Curse of an Angel
by Battery Powered Witch
Summary: Clara returns home to help a friend with a personal tragedy, though all doesn't quite go as planned as there are Angels lurking about. She is sent back in time, finding more than she bargained for in 1986. What is the Angel's plan? Will the Doctor be able to get Clara back home before it's too late? And what if she decides she doesn't want to leave?
1. Prologue

**Author's Note: Here lies a new fic! I don't normally like using original characters in fanfiction, but this idea came to me and I just had to write it. Please enjoy the Doctor and Clara's adventure. **

She didn't take her eyes off of the ceiling, she was still lying there when the sky began to darken outside. She watched the lights of the passing cars on her roof, being reminded once again of how she used to do this exact thing while lying next to him. More tears sprung from her eyes. Clara felt like she would never be able to move from here, her heart much too swollen and wounded for her to shift position. She'd done the right thing, but that didn't make it any easier, he was still gone either way.

Her minded turned over the memories, ranging from the best to the worst and everything in between. It had felt like her adventure was only just beginning, and still, it was already over. She knew it was futile to think about the unfairness of this situation, but her anger gave her the sort of strength that her grief had almost fully drained from her. She wished with her whole being that she could just go back, even just for one more day, just to see his face again. But she couldn't.

After this period of mourning would come acceptance, and then, painful as it was to think of now, she'd have to move on. Time would heal her, Time, which had created this mess to begin with was now to be her saviour. There would come a day when these wounds would be nothing but miniscule scars; she'd reach a point in her life where this tragedy was hazy, hard to fully recall. One day she would carry on as she had before, as though her life had never been touched by him, as though she'd never loved at all.


	2. Urgent Phone Call

The Previous Week

'Right then, well that was a bit of a close shave wasn't it?' the Doctor said, fiddling about with the controls in the background. 'Those Vikings really don't like it when you point out their peculiar dress sense.' Clara hadn't been paying much attention, though the following quip fell from her mouth before she even had time to think about it. 'You're one to talk about other people's dress sense,' she said, turning to him, an eye on the bowtie. He promptly straightened it, replying with his usual defence. 'Bowties are, and always will be cool.'

'If you say so,' she replied, taking her phone from her pocket to discover several missed calls and messages. She worried, seeing the name of her closest friend besides the Doctor next to these abundance of attempts to get in contact.

She dialled for voicemail, taking no notice of the Timelord's disapproving mutterings about 21st century people and their attachment to their mobiles.

'Hey Clara, it's Hannah here. I've got some news, pretty bad news to be honest. Are you around? I'd just rather not have to tell you over the phone.'

Clara frowned, concern intensifying. She skipped to the last message and listened again.

'Hi, me again. Sorry to bother you, but just call me back as soon as you can please? It's just, it's Dad see, he's he's...he's topped himself. Just get back to me ok?' said Hannah's wavering recorded voice.

'So, Miss Oswald? Where to next?' the Doctor said, as chirpy as always when she turned to him, lowering her phone.

'Home,' she said. 'I've got to go home.'


	3. Statues in the Graveyard

**Warning: Brief description of suicide.**

The funeral was packed. It reminded Clara of her own mother's, something she told herself not to think about as she stood watching the service, beside Hannah who was inconsolable. The Doctor had disappeared in the TARDIS, promising to return in a few days or weeks, whenever Clara called him, or in or around then at least. He would do his best he promised, the sentiment not putting any wind in Clara's sails. She wasn't too apprehensive just yet, once Hannah was back on her feet she would worry about the Doctor's whereabouts.

Victor Green's photo stared back at her from the top of the coffin that had not yet been lowered into the ground. He smiled through his neatly trimmed beard back at the world, his kind eyes giving no indication of the turmoil that must have gone on behind them. Clara took her friend's hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze as Hannah continued to weep into her tissue.

The two young women sat together for a long time back at the house while the rest of her family dealt with their guests. Hannah seemed to be unable to do anything more than sit and stare into the space before her.

'Did you have any idea?' Clara asked after some time. Hannah, being the closest to her father out of her siblings appeared to be taking it the hardest, not to mention, she was the one who had found him. He had used a belt, and the rafters in their basement.

Hannah shook her head. 'Not a clue,' she said, wiping her eyes. 'He seemed fine, you'd never think there was anything wrong.' The strain in her voice hinted that she'd raked through her recent memories, trying to recall some kind of sign she should have taken heed of; anything that might have helped her prevent her father's death.

'You don't do you? You never really know what goes on in other people's heads. You weren't able to read his mind.'

Hannah nodded, taking out a tissue and gently blowing into it. 'I just wish he would've said something. I could've helped, we all could've.'

Clara said no more, squeezing her friend's hand again and staying with her until the sky was beginning to darken outside. By then all the other guests had left. It was just Hannah and her family in the house, Clara knew they would all cope together.

She headed towards home, stopping by the graveyard on the way. The entire day had strengthened her desire to visit her Mum's grave. She entered through the gateway, taking note of a statue she hadn't seen before. She frowned slightly, wondering why it was necessary for it to be so large, but still it wasn't wholly unpleasant. It's angelic shape made it somewhat comforting.

Clara changed the flowers on the grave and spent a few minutes there, mentally recounting all the things she wanted to tell her mother, finding herself feeling strangely grateful that her mum had passed the way she did. She couldn't imagine the guilt and unanswered questions that plagued Hannah and her family would dissipate so easily. She glanced over towards Victor's fresh grave, the green fabric still covering the earth beneath, cushioning the wreaths of flowers and lanterns. But that wasn't all that was over there, a new addition had joined.

There was a statue there too, right where the headstone would be placed when the earth had settled. This statue too was an angel. Unease sank through her. Who would bring in two identical statues to the graveyard, and why place one directly behind a brand new burial site? Clara stood up. She was glad of her coat now, and still shivered slightly despite it. Light was fading fast and she wasn't a fan of this new turn of events. This was just the kind of thing she was a afraid of. Of course she'd die before admitting it to him, but she wasn't quite ready yet to deal with any unearthly behaviour without the Doctor at least relatively nearby. Before jumping to any conclusions, she decided to investigate this statue, if that was indeed, what it was.

She stepped forward, looking around herself, feeling that slight twinge of excitement she felt when stepping onto a new world, though this time her nerves outweighed it. This was possibly a bad idea, maybe even a very bad idea, but she'd gone too far now to be able to stop herself. She reached Victor's grave, and the angel just behind it. Its hands covered its face, as though it was weeping, possibly for all the lost souls buried in the ground beneath it. At another time it might have been quite beautiful, but in this twilight it was just a tad bit too eerie for Clara's liking. Her eyes drifted lower, to the patch of raised ground just ahead. So many flowers before her, so many different people had paid their regards. He had been fifty four, younger than her own dad, younger too than her mum would have been. She wondered then, as she had before, what had caused him to do it. What had made him decide to opt out of life when to her nothing was more valuable? She was sure the Doctor would concur with her, then became curious about what he thought on the subject in general. What did a man who could live numerous lives think of those humans who gave up on their one and only? There were so many questions she had yet to ask him...

She looked up again, and her stomach lurched. The angel was no longer weeping, it was pointing. It's outstretched forefinger was focused directly below her, at the centre of Victor's grave. Clara's eyebrows knotted together. She now knew that this was no common stone entity she was dealing with. She swallowed and tried the only thing that came to mind.

'Ok, what are you and what do you want?' she asked, looking the angel in the eye. It did nothing, simply remained where it was, solid stone. She was suddenly glad it was late enough for the graveyard to be deserted apart from herself. She didn't want to imagine just how bonkers she might look talking to a statue. She looked around her just to make doubly sure she was, in fact, alone; when she turned back the statue had moved. This time she jumped, startled. Its peaceful face had become monstrous, its mouth pulled open in a silent rage-filled roar, bearing teeth sharp as fangs. Now both hands were raised, reaching out to her, clenched into claws.

'Why are you never around when I need you?!' she asked the darkening sky in frustration, cursing the Doctor. There wasn't much for it, she wasn't familiar with this monster, and she had found on her adventures through time and space that when in doubt, the best bet was to run for it. That she did, turning her back on the angel and pelting through the graveyard, adrenaline pumping through her veins and propelling her forward. She didn't know then that you could never outrun an angel, just as you can never outrun time. The gates were in sight when there it was, right before her, barely an inch from her face. Clara screamed, the sound still ripping through the night after her body had disappeared from it.


	4. Landing in Leeds

Blinding light seemed to hit her at the same time as the rest of her slammed to the ground. Clara blinked, raising her head, finding herself lying face down on a cobblestoned street. She began to push herself up, her body beginning to feel the pain of her impact with the ground.

'Are you alright dear?' she heard a voice say, the sound accompanied by what must have been high heeled feet. Before she knew it there was a middle aged woman beside her, hauling her up from the cobbles. 'Oh thank you, yeah I'm fine. I just had a fall,' she said, declining to add '_into a completely different place.'_ She concluded that she must've passed out somewhere along the line, but that didn't explain why she was on a street she didn't recognise instead of back at the graveyard. What kind of power did those angels have?

'It looks like you've had quite the topple, you're tights are ruined,' the woman said, still pulling Clara along by the forearm, leading her to the footpath. 'So they are,' Clara replied, glancing at the newly formed holes in the knees of her stockings. She looked around, trying to get her bearings and having no luck. 'Excuse me, could you tell me where we are?' she asked. The woman pointed towards the nearest sign. 'We're on George street dear.' Clara nodded, none the wiser. 'Ok, but George street where?'

The woman blinked.

'I mean what city?'

'Oh...Leeds...' the woman explained, her expression somewhere between concerned and pitying.

'Leeds?' asked Clara, stunned. 'But I was... I've been to Leeds before, it never looked like this,' she added, more to herself than the woman.

'That's because they're having all the work done,' the woman replied, as though sharing the pride of her city with an unknowing tourist. Clara looked at her, trying to hide her puzzlement. 'Oh yes, it'll be a whole different city by 1990, it'll be wonderful!'

'By 1990?' Clara asked, fear setting in. 'What year is it now?'

That concerned look in the woman's eyes became much more pronounced. '1986 dear, are you sure you're alright from that fall?'

'You know actually I don't think I am. I think I need to go and lie down for a while,' she replied.

'Oh, that's a shame. Come with me I'll sort you out.'

Clara absentmindedly followed the woman's lead, too bewildered to protest or ask where they were going. She had to get in contact with the Doctor as soon as possible. She didn't know how on Earth she'd ended up here, but she knew her alien friend was the only one who could possibly get her out of this mess. They walked for a while, up and down streets, around corners, eventually reaching a quieter, residential area. Clara only realised it was the woman's house when she was inside the living room being handed a cup of tea. 'Oh thanks,' Clara said, taking it, calming herself with a sip. 'There's a spare bedroom upstairs, just give me a shout if you want to have a rest.'

'Thank you so much, you don't have to be so kind.'

'Nonsense! Nothing wrong with a bit of hospitality, especially these days.'

Clara smiled, warming to the woman. She had certainly happened to fall in front of the right person. 'What's your name by the way, I didn't catch it earlier?' she asked.

'Marjorie, and you are?'

'Clara,' she replied.

'Lovely name! Well I better get on with my chores, and do let me know if you need anything, I'll be in the kitchen.'

Marjorie headed off about her business as Clara sank further into the flower patterned couch, trying to get her head around the situation she had ended up in. When she had straightened it all in her had, she lowered her tea and phoned the Doctor.

'Come on, pick up,' she mumbled while the phone rang out. Sure enough, she was directed to voice mail. She gave a frustrated sigh. 'Oh you Jammie-Dodger eating, fez loving-' she began, cutting herself off when the tone beeped and she had to leave a message.

'How many times have a told you to keep you phone on you at all times?! Anyway it's Clara in case you haven't guessed and I'm stuck, in Leeds, in 1986. Don't ask me how it happened I don't know. I just saw this statue in the graveyard and I woke up here. Just, get your TARDIS here and take me home ok? Quick as you like!' she said, then hung up. She sighed again, wondering how long it would take the Doctor to receive her message. The possibilities of what he was up to were endless. Hopefully he would get here quickly and she could go home, the last thing she needed was to be displaced in time. There was too much going on for her in the present to be dwelling here.

She sipped some more tea and heard the front door open. She pulled the bottom of her skirt down and pulled her tights up, trying her best to hide the holes that had appeared in each knee. She was suddenly on edge, it was likely that Marjorie's husband had returned and would be less accommodating of a perfect stranger in their living room. Clara nervously gulped tea as this new person entered the room. It was a man as she had expected, though he was much too young to be Marjorie's husband, Clara's second guess was that he was her son. 'Oh hello,' he said, surprised. His voice was familiar, and so, now that Clara thought about it, was his face. 'Who are you then?' he asked. 'I, I'm Clara, Marjorie let me in.'

'Oh, she's always doing that. Loves strangers that one,' he said with a smile, and that was something she recognised too, she just couldn't quite place who he reminded her of. She nodded, taking another sip of tea. She was certainly glad of the cup now, it was a social safety net more than anything else. 'Are you Marjorie's son?' she asked, having nothing else better to say.

'No I'm just a tenant. I live upstairs. I'm Victor by the way,' he said, holding out his hand for her to shake. 'Victor Green.'


	5. Victor Green

At first she thought to herself what a strange coincidence it was, to meet another Victor Green, but she quickly cottoned on. This man was the same, Hannah's father, young and still very much alive. She could see it now, there were no crow's feet around his eyes, no hints of grey in his hair, no beard to hide those sharp cheekbones she had never noticed before. It was as though someone had chiselled away the tired, older Victor and uncovered the devastatingly handsome young man beneath.

In her astonishment she forgot to shake his head, busy staring at him as she was. 'They're clean, I swear,' he said, in reference to his outstretched hand. Clara remembered her manners and shook it, his skin smooth and youthful, unlike the calloused, hard hands of the man he was to become. 'Sorry, I was in my own world there. It's just, I used to know someone with the exact same name,' she explained.

'Really?' he asked, intrigued.

She nodded.

'What are the chances of that?'

Clara shrugged, 'who knows?'

'Well, I better see how Marjorie's doing. Nice to meet you Clara,' he said, walking through the room and exiting through the door at the other end.

'You too,' she said, watching him go, her mind in turmoil.

Why had she ended up here of all places? Had she been sent by the angel? But what for? Was it merely a strange coincidence? She then remember the forefinger of the angel, pointing to the centre of Victor's grave.

She stood up, dialling her phone again as she walked, stopping just outside the front door of Marjorie's house. The small garden hedges shielded her from the gaze of passers-by. The last thing she needed was to draw attention to herself by displaying her smart phone to the inhabitants of 1986. Luckily this time, she wasn't directed to voicemail.

'Doctor, where are you?' she demanded before he even got the chance to say hello.

'Hi there Clara, what's got you in a mood?'

'In a mood? Did you actually just- I'm stuck in 1986 Doctor, that's what's go me in a _mood_!'

'Oh yes, sorry, I knew I was calling you back for a reason and not just for idle chit-chat. So what happened, you said something about a statue. Was it a statue of an Angel by any chance?'

'Yes! Yes it was!' she said, glad that some progress was being made.

'Ok that's what I thought. Have you seen any more since you've been in Leeds?'

'No, I don't think so. I've just been on the street and in this little house. Do you think there's more?'

'There's a very small chance that they could've trapped you and will keep sending you back further and further to live off your time energy forever, I've seen that once, not pleasant. But f you've only seen the one, and there's been no others, then maybe it's ok. I should just be able to pick you up in the TARDIS and get you back home.'

'What was the point in telling me that first bit then? Are you just trying to scare me?' Clara asked, exasperated.

'No, just giving you the worst case scenario! Honestly, if I hadn't told you you'd be shouting at me for not telling you! I can never win with you humans!' he complained.

'Right well, just get here please. I can't live in a decade of shoulder pads and sequins, I just can't.'

'Ok, give me the exact date and location and I'll try my best to get there.'

Clara obliged, giving him the details and feeling much more reassured when she hung up.

Whatever the Angel's plan had been it wasn't going to happen. Her phone beeped, that irritating sound that meant her battery was dying. She rolled her eyes, of course the Doctor could sonic to make it work all over time and space, but he hadn't given it unlimited battery life. Still, it would be fine. She would be out of here by tonight anyway, Leeds 1986 would have to carry on without her.


	6. Waiting

Marjorie insisted that Clara stay for dinner, and said there was no need for her to go wandering the streets of the city waiting for her friend to come pick her up when she'd be much warmer and safer in the house. Clara thanked her a million times and still felt it wasn't enough. She wanted to make it up to the woman somehow, but couldn't think of a big enough gesture that would equal the kindness the woman had shown her. In the evening she sat with Marjorie watching television, and tried not to marvel at how small the set was, and how different the content on the box was too.

Marjorie told her about her late husband Richard and how they used to own several properties together. 'I just run the one now, it's too much hassle to do more than that. This place practically pays for itself. Victor's very good, always pays up on time, keeps his place nice and tidy. He'll be a great provider one day, it's a lucky woman who marries him.' Clara smiled slightly, thinking of Heather, Hannah's Mum. A twinge of sadness hit her then, recalling the red rimmed eyes and the constant flow of tears that both Hannah and her mother had sported when she'd last seen them.

'By the way that room's up for rent if you need somewhere to stay.'

'Thanks for the offer but I'll be out of your hair by tonight if everything goes to plan,' she said, swallowing her doubts that the Doctor wouldn't stay true to his word.

'Ok, well. If you're ever wanting to live in Leeds just give us a shout. You're welcome here,' Marjorie said with a warm smile.

Soon Victor joined them and they all watched TV until it finished for the night. Marjorie then headed for bed. Clara eyed the detailed gold clock on the wall, wondering just how late the Doctor would arrive.

The hiss and crack of a can opening brought her back to reality. 'You want one?' Victor asked, nodding towards the six pack of lager sitting next to him on the end table. Clara's instinct was to say no, but the longer she looked at the cans the more she wanted one. 'Oh, go on then,' she said, giving into temptation, thinking that if she was bound to sit up here all night then she might as well relax a little.

'How was work?' she asked, finding herself threading the same line of questions she'd ask when he'd drive her back home from Hannah's house when she'd been a teenager.

He shrugged. 'Alright I suppose. I fixed two broken taps and a shower today. I've got to go back and do a toilet tomorrow, it doesn't flush properly anymore. Apparently you've to give it a great big whack to get the cistern to fill up every time. The lass who owns it says her knuckles are destroyed.'

Clara chuckled slightly. 'I take it you're a plumber then?'

'Yeah,' he said, sighing slightly.

'Do you enjoy it?'

'It pays the bills,' he said with a shrug, sipping from his can. Clara still hadn't opened hers. She realised this and placed it in her lap, pulling the ring and taking a refreshing gulp from it.

'What would you rather be doing?' she asked him.

'Almost anything else,' he said, and she smirked. That small melancholic pang hit her again as she realised he'd still been plumbing when she'd know him. Sure he'd relocated to London, but was still in a job he didn't seem to be too fond of.

'What about you? What do you do?' he asked. Clara took another hearty swig from her can.

'I'm sort of in between jobs just now. I've trained to be a teacher, but I spent a lot of time looking after these kids as a favour to a family friend. It lasted a bit longer than I would've liked. I'm kind of too busy travelling to really settle to anything at the moment.'

'So how'd you end up here then?'

'Totally by accident.'

He laughed. 'That's probably true of most people. I don't there's many who come to Leeds on purpose.'

Clara chuckled with him, lowering her can to the end table between them to avoid spilling it on her dress.

'So who do you travel with?'

'A friend.'

'Just the one?'

'Yeah. He's a doctor. Not that you'd ever know to look at him.'

'Is he the one whose collecting you?'

She nodded. 'Yeah, he's not very good with time keeping. Which is ironic considering...' she trailed off, not sure quite how to end the sentence. Victor raised an eyebrow. 'He's just a very ridiculous person, but in the best possible way,' she said, smiling to herself.

'Just a friend then yeah?' Victor commented cheekily.

'Yes, actually,' she said, determinedly looking him in the eye despite her reddening face. 'Very much just a friend.'

He nodded, not pressing the subject any further. She watched him, drinking from his can, appearing just as relaxed as she was. He was almost the same as he had been in her time, but with a stronger hint of optimism about him. He was less jaded perhaps, as that seemed to come with age. Still though, how could she be sure that he felt any better in 1986 than he had in 2013? What if was just beginning to build, that deep depression that led him to choose death over life? What if he was already in the midst of it now and was just somehow able to endure the weight of it in a way that he could no longer do later on?

Clara was cynical about her abilities to change things. Sure she had saved quite a few people on the Rings of Akhaten with her mother's leaf, but that was a different task than trying to prevent someone from committing suicide almost thirty years before they would actually do it. 'Do you ever think, I dunno, that people don't talk enough?' she asked, thinking that general statements might be the best way to start at least. 'What do you mean?' he asked, sipping again from the can. 'Well, you know, we always talk about stuff, but, never anything important. Like my friend, the doctor I mentioned, he talks all the time, you can never get him to shut up; but there's so much about him I don't know.'

There was silence for a moment.

'Sorry, you've lost me,' Victor admitted.

Clara could feel embarrassment lighting up her face again. She was beginning to kick herself for even bringing up the topic. But it was already too late to drop it, so she ploughed on.

'I just mean, when people don't feel too great, sometimes they don't tell anyone, and it just gets worse; and people can't help because they don't know there's anything wrong,' Clara said, staring pointedly at her skirt. When she finally got the courage to look up at him she saw he was gazing back at her, eyes narrowed the slightest bit.

'You wouldn't do that would you?' she asked, digging herself further into the hole she'd created. 'I mean, if there was anything wrong, you'd tell someone?' she asked, unable to disguise the concern in her voice. She couldn't shake the image of his grave before her eyes, his crying daughter and wife.

'I'd imagine I would yeah,' he said, somewhat defensively. 'If there _was_ anything wrong.' He took a well measured swig from his can, finishing it and standing up.

'Well I'm off to bed. Hope you're friend doesn't keep you waiting too long,' Victor said, Clara getting just a little hint of coldness in his tone. 'Yeah, me too,' she replied, to herself.

She hoped the Doctor would get here soon. She felt bad enough about overstaying her welcome passed dinner in Marjorie's house, and she was certain she would no longer be able to look Victor in the eye without wanting the ground to swallow her up.

She lifted her phone from her pocket and saw that its battery had died. She sighed, pulling her cardigan tighter around her.

'Hurry up Doctor, I need to get out of here,' she whispered to herself, wishing that somehow the Timelord would hear her.


	7. Settling In

She was standing at the window of the hallway, pacing up and down occasionally, considering taking a walk down the road in the hope of finding a big blue box perched on a street corner, waiting for her. She peered through the lace curtains on the front door, seeing that the sun was on its way back up again. She had barely slept all night, only dozed off on the couch momentarily, dreaming of the interior of the TARDIS and her own warm bed.

It was around half five in the morning that she heard some footsteps and the flush of a toilet coming from upstairs. She looked up to see a bleary eyed and pyjama-clad Victor descending the stairs.

'You still here?' he asked, wiping his eyes.

'So I am,' Clara replied. 'What's gotten you up so early?'

'Toilet that needs punching. It's a bit of a drive away, I need to get in and do it before the bird heads off for work.'

Clara nodded, it was only now, conversing with someone that she realised just how fatigued she was. Victor stopped at the bottom of the stairs and frowned at her.

'Have you been standing there all night?'

'No, just for about the last two hours,' she stated.

'You've not slept?'

'I did a bit,' she replied somewhat defensively.

'Go up to bed. Marjorie's got the spare room set up for you. She won't mind.'

'No, I can't. I can't be asleep when he gets here,' she told him.

'He's not gonna leave without you,' Victor countered.

'You don't know him,' she replied with a tired laugh which he didn't share.

'Does he do this a lot? Not turn up?'

'From time to time, but it's ok, he makes up for it.'

'I hope so. Well at least have some coffee if you're going to stand in the hallway all day.'

Clara didn't have the energy to argue and so followed him into the kitchen and watched him prepare coffee for them both.

He did it the same way Hannah did, leading Clara to the conclusion that it was him her friend had picked up her habits from. 'So, besides the toilet, what's on for today?' she asked. 'Dunno, I'm on call, just have to see who rings in. Where do you live by the way? I could drop you back this evening after work if your friends still not turned up.' Clara almost laughed, but appreciated the offer. She saw him then as the man who always offered interesting flavoured chewing gum when she was over in Hannah's house. She'd never seen it anywhere else, only Hannah's dad seemed to have it. She tried again to forget that this was the same man before her, it was much too bizarre for her brain to process it.

'It's much too far away for anyone else to reach. Trust me, I'll just wait for him to get here.'

'What, does he drive a Bat Mobile or something?' Victor asked, seeming to dislike the Doctor more and more with each mention of him. Clara chuckled. 'Something like that yeah.'

'But what if he doesn't show?' he asked turning to the kitchen table, two coffees in hand. Clara took one and thanked him.

'What if you're stuck here again tonight, or for another week? What'll you do?'

Dread filled Clara's stomach, she drank some coffee in order to dispel it, a method that didn't work too well. That was something that had been bobbing around in the back of her mind for the last few hours, though she hadn't been brave enough to examine it too closely. 'I don't know, I'll think of something,' she said, attempting to reassure herself. 'My sister manages a shop not too far from here, I can put in a good word for you if you like? If it comes to that I mean,' he said.

'Thanks Victor, that's really good of you. That would be great, if it does come to that, but it shouldn't.'

Of course in the end it did come to that. With just over a week gone by and no sign of the Doctor, and Clara having absolutely no way of contacting him, she had to swallow her pride and accept both Marjorie and Victor's offers. She was renting a room and working in a shop in 1986, getting on with this new life of hers while her real one passed her by. Each night she looked to the sky, to the stars, hoping to spot a blue box coming her way, but she never found one.

Clara was alone, she began to accept. She was stuck here, and wherever the Doctor was, it was much too far from her. It had never been like this before, she had never had to seek him out. He'd turn up, they'd get up to some mischief, then she'd return to normality for a while. She didn't like this turn of events, she didn't like that she depended on him to get home. More and more she was beginning to see the fragility of human life in comparison to the Doctor's. He could flit and flutter about the place, never having to stay anywhere more than a minute if he didn't want to. It wasn't so easy for his human companions.

Clara Oswald had been turned into to just another girl who had to wait.


	8. Consulting Professor Song

**Author's Note: As you can see by now, this story is quite Clara-centric, but don't worry, the Doctor will appear more as we go along. In fact he's right in this very chapter in case you missed him ;) There's also another familiar face here too. Enjoy!**

The TARDIS landed rather elegantly, or so the Doctor thought, seeing as he wasn't knocked off of his feet when it rematerialised in its new destination. He grinned quite smugly to himself, then remembered there was no one around to look impressed at his achievement. 'Typical,' he muttered to himself. He absentmindedly smoothed back his hair and straightened his bowtie before making his way towards the front door, his walk becoming more of a swagger the closer to it he got.

Once it had been opened and closed again behind him, he found himself standing in the middle of a very large and well kept office. The decor looked like something out of the 1800's rather than the 51st century, but he supposed that architects were a nostalgic bunch. Behind an ornate wooden desk sat a woman, writing vigorously into a notebook he was sure he recognised. She didn't look up as he approached.

'So nice of you to pop in unannounced. What have you done this time?' she said.

'Ooh, you always assume the worst of me River.'

'So you just came to say hello then have you?' she asked in disbelief, closing her notebook and looking at him.

He stayed grinning for a moment, then looked down at his feet.

'Well actually-'

'Oh well, a girl can still dream one day a visit to her office will just be a visit,' she replied with a lofty sigh. 'What's wrong, and where exactly are we? I don't want to give anything away.'

The Doctor looked up, recalling their last meeting. It hadn't been a particularly pleasant one. 'Have we done Manhattan yet?' he asked, waiting to gage her response. Her blank expression and automatic reach for her notebook told him all he needed to know.

'Let's see, Manhattan, Manhattan,' she said, flicking through the pages towards the end of the book. It was almost full now, making him uneasy. Each page she filled was another grain of sand through the hour glass. He was delaying his visits to her now, knowing that with each one the time for her to go to the library drew closer. He would hold off on the ending as long as he could, though he knew that even he couldn't put it off forever.

'No, I don't think we have. Was it good?'

'Let's just say it was memorable,' he said, not wanting to think about those wounds caused by the Angels that still stung.

'Hmm, intriguing. I'll look forward to it.'

_You shouldn't,_ he thought, but didn't say. What a complicated thing time was. He half wondered, and not for the first time, what his relationship with River might have been like if they'd met in the right order.

'You've passed me out it seems. Ooh, I don't like it much, I like having the upper hand.'

'You don't need to tell me that,' he replied, and knowing smirks were exchanged.

He could almost hear Amy's voice in his head, 'ok, if the flirting's finished can we get down to business?' Oh Amelia Pond, how he missed her. That made him think of Clara, and how he was determined not to lose her to the same creatures that had taken the Pond's from him.

'So, what's the problem?' River asked, a businesslike manner replacing her usual purr.

'It's the Weeping Angel's, they've got my friend.'

River opened her mouth to suggest something but he cut across.

'Before you say it, yes I have tried to pick her up in the TARDIS, but I can't get close enough. It brings me to three months after she landed or the day before. When I try to go for the exact date I end up on the wrong planet. I've landed in the same place on Clomb so many times they've banned me from it. There was a hearing and everything! Inter-planetary communications just aren't what they used to be!'

'That's interesting, where was she originally, and where is she now?'

The Doctor explained and she nodded. They searched through her library, reading up on the Weeping Angels and why they might act this way. After about ten minutes River spoke again.

'Ok, I can't find anything at the moment, but I'll keep looking into it and get back to you. For now, I suggest you send her a message.'

'I can't, her phone's dead,' he replied, looking up from his book, pulling his reading glasses off.

River laughed and shook her head. 'Oh sweetie, you are spending too much time in the 21st Century. I don't mean a text message, I mean something like what I would do.'

'What, deface a cliff or vandalise an ancient artefact?' he retorted.

'It's guaranteed to get her attention.'

The Doctor said nothing, having to grudgingly admit that she was right.

He stood up as River returned her book to the shelf she'd taken it down from. Ideas were beginning to form, that's how Amy had guided him to Craig's house when the TARDIS refused to land. He knew he'd been right in coming to River, she was brilliant, almost as much of a genius as himself. 'Ok, I'll go to the day before she lands and let her know I'll pick her up three months later.'

'Good plan. You're almost as much of a genius as me,' River said smirking. 'Since when do those eyes need reading glasses?'

He was about to explain that they were Amy's, before realising that in itself was information River shouldn't really know just yet.

'Spoilers,' he said. She nodded, understanding. 'I best be getting on then,' he added.

'Alright, who is she by the way?' River asked, following him back to the door of the TARDIS. He turned to her blankly.

'Your friend?'

'Oh, her names Clara. You haven't met her, not yet.'

She nodded again. 'So where's Mum and Dad then?'

He was caught totally off guard, for a moment he stared back at her, unable to conceal the troubled feeling inside him that must've shown in his eyes. 'Spoilers,' he said, trying to keep his tone neutral. She frowned, slight concern entering her face.

'They're safe, and very much alive,' he reassured her, 'just not with me.'

Relief filled her then. 'Ok, just once they're alright.'

He turned into the TARDIS when she placed a hand on his shoulder. 'Aren't you forgetting something?'

He thought about it and was certain he wasn't when she smiled to herself and kissed him.

'Oh, oh. I don't know how I forgot that,' he said, flustered as always when River lavished such attention on him. Married or not, he still wasn't quite used to spur of the moment kisses while he was half way in and half way out of the TARDIS.

'Bye then River, and thanks a lot.'

''Til next time sweetie, and good luck,' she replied.


	9. A Message from the Doctor

Clara returned home after pulling another overtime shift at work. She was totally worn out from all of the stress, but it had to be done. She needed the money. She was making just enough to cover the rent and living costs, if she budgeted correctly. She wasn't sure how much longer she could keep up this balancing act. She entered her bedroom, turning on the light and walking over to close the curtains. She sighed and shuffled over, her legs too tired to walk very fast. She looked out to the garden, the evening sky glinting back at her, the first of the stars already beginning to appear. She noticed a figure out there too, it was Victor, leaning against the garden wall, his back to her. She wondered what he was doing out there so late. She drew the curtains together then placed her hands in her pockets. She felt her phone in there, still always within easy reach out of habit, though it wasn't much use to her now

She took it out and decided to keep it in her room. The last thing she needed right now was to lose it in the wrong decade. She opened the top drawer of the rickety old desk beside her wardrobe and dropped it in. The drawer was empty, just about, except for a white envelope. She assumed it must have been an old bill or bank statement left behind by a former tenant. She picked it up to satisfy her curiosity and was pleasantly surprised. Her named was written in neat script across the front. Her heard leapt with excitement. It had to be from the Doctor, maybe he had left instructions for her to meet him. Maybe he was actually out there somewhere waiting for _her_. She sat down on her bed and ripped the envelope open, quickly but carefully, not wanting to damage the letter inside. She unfolded it and read:

_Dear Clara, _

_I'm having a bit of bother trying to get the TARDIS to Leeds. The Angels don't seem to want to have their plan interfered with. The closest I can get to you is June 15th, 1986. _

'That's three months from now!' she gasped aloud.

_Yes, that is three months from now. I'm sorry, I really am. Just sit tight and try not to get into trouble. This will all be over soon, I promise. _

_I'll try to contact you somehow before I arrive, the Angel's have made it a tricky area, but I'll do what I can. Good luck!_

_Doctor,_

Clara's excitement had deflated considerably, so much so she barely noticed the hastily added postscript:

_PS: Keep an eye on Victor, he seems to be a big element in the Angels' plan._

'Thanks for that, as if I haven't already reached that conclusion!' she said, throwing the letter down out of frustration.

Disappointment swirled all around her insides. She held her head in her hands. It reminded her of being a small child, getting lost in the shopping centre and thinking the whole world had ended. Of course her mum had found her in the end, but she was gone now, and so too was the Doctor. Lost Clara must remain. Her rational mind understood the Doctor was doing his best to help, he hadn't callously forgotten her, he was just trying to make the best of a bad situation. But still, "sit tight" irked her beyond reason. It made her feel so passive, like a child who had to be good and quiet while the adults dug her out of the giant hole she'd fallen into.

She had intended to go to bed, making sure to get enough rest before her morning shift the following day, but she was much too irritated to be able to go to sleep now. Instead she buttoned up her coat and decided to join Victor in the garden. He turned to her as she walked up the small path towards him.

'Ay'up? What are you doin' in 't garden this time of night?' she said, mimicking his accent and exaggerating it as far as she could.

Victor stared back at her, 'promise me you'll never do that again.'

'Oh come on, it wasn't that bad!'

He shook his head and laughed despite himself. He had been reading by the light of one of Marjorie's lanterns she discovered as he closed the book and tucked it under his elbow.

'I thought you were getting an early night? Don't you have work at eight in the morning?'

'Yeah well, I've decided I don't care right now. I'll regret this tomorrow, but that's a hours away isn't it?'

'That's true. Why the sudden change of mind?'

She looked out at the garden. Marjorie kept the exterior of the house just as nice as the inside.There was a little fountain in the middle of the garden, and cherry blossom trees in front of the green hedge which separated it from the houses beyond. It really was quite beautiful, especially in this twilight.

'I got some news I'm not too fond of.'

'Oh?'

She slowly turned to him, not sure exactly how to say it. 'My friend can't get here for three months. He left me a message a while ago, I didn't see it until now. He's having transportation issues.'

Victor nodded. 'That's strange. Is it really so bad though? Having to stay here?'

She regretted bringing it up now, no matter what she said next it was bound to offend him. She then found herself suddenly not caring, she was miffed at this situation, she needed to rant. She'd had enough of tiptoeing around other people's feelings and bottling up her own.

'I was never meant to be here in the first place. It's all wrong.'

'Then why did you come here?' he asked, somewhat testily.

'I didn't intend to, it happened by accident.'

'Well maybe it is meant then,' he said. She frowned at him.

'The best things in life happen by accident.'

She turned to face him fully, narrowing her eyes slightly. 'Since when did you get so philosophical?'

He didn't answer verbally, just lifted his book up into the light so that she could read the cover. _'Philosophy: An Introduction_,' it read. Clara laughed, her frustrations seeming to deflate like a balloon, a reckless abandon taking over instead. Sometimes laughter was the only way to overcome a desperate situation, what else could she do? She was stuck here either way, she might as well get some enjoyment out of it.

'You don't want to go for a drink down the pub do you?' Victor asked, after his own bout of chuckles.

Clara thought about it. 'You know, that sounds good actually. I quite fancy that idea.'

Victor beamed, as though he been certain she'd refuse, but was delighted she hadn't.

They stayed there until late, watching the place go from moderately full to packed to almost empty. Half way through the night they got talking about the book Victor had been reading.

'Have you always liked philosophy?'

'Yeah, would've studied it if I'd gone to college. That or carpentry maybe, you know, something a bit more practical.'

'Why didn't you do either of those?' she asked, having to talk quite loudly to be heard over the numerous other conversations taking place in the bar.

'Couldn't afford it. It wasn't the done thing in my family either, going to college. My dad was a plumber, and his dad before him. I sort of just fell into it.'

'Well, what's to stop you going now? You've probably earned enough money working to do a course,' Clara pointed out.

Victor shrugged, gazing into his drink. 'I dunno, I've never thought about it really.'

'Well you should. You only live one life, might as well do something you like.'

He seemed to consider this, as though such a thing had never occurred to him before.

'Whose getting philosophical now?'

They laughed and bought another round, chattering like old friends who had years of stuff to catch up on. Their conversations varied, from:

'No really, you should do it, be a carpenter who carves deep meaningful quotes into your work,' Clara insisted.

'People might think I'm trying to emulate a certain well know Prophet.'

They laughed, Clara now giddy and just a little tipsy.

'Right stick with plumbing them, and leave inspirational notes on people's toilets on the way out.'

'That can be done, Philosophical Plumber...I like it,' Victor said, looking off into the distance as though seeing himself there as a much more impressive man.

Things became more inane by the end of the night:

'They can't, I'm telling you, it's just a myth,' Victor insisted while Clara shook her head.

'No no, they will, one day people will be able to talk to each other and see each other at the same time. Video calls, everyone will be doing it.'

'It's never going to happen,' Victor replied, arms folded.

'Just you wait Vic, just you watch. One day you will see it before you're very eyes, I will call you up, via video phone, and say, 'Hey Vic, hate to say I told you so but...'

'Right, you keep waiting for that day Clara, you'll be waiting an awful long time.'

'Not that long actually, just two decades or so,' she replied smugly, sipping her drink through a straw, catching Victor smiling despite himself.

The pub radio then received some of Clara's attention as Cyndi Lauper began to blast from the speakers. 'This song!' Clara exclaimed. 'I used to dance around the kitchen to this with my mum!' she stood and reached out for his hand. 'Up!' she told him. 'What? It's a pub, you can't dance in here!' Victor said, looking around at the other patrons, clearly embarrassed. 'Oh come on, I don't think anyone's going to stop us!' she said. He sighed and reluctantly took her hand, following her to the makeshift dance floor which was populated by the least amount of seats. Clara danced without inhibitions, Victor awkwardly following her lead. He too then loosened up as other in the pub began to watch and clap along with the music, some even joining in and dancing too.

'Did anyone ever tell you you're completely bonkers?' Victor asked her, between twirls.

He spun Clara round again, and she replied when she faced him once more. 'No actually. But I think right now that's a fair enough assessment,' she said. They beamed at each other, Victor dipping her and picking her back up again.

They stayed until the pub shut, Clara's feet already protesting, but she hardly minded, the rest of her was euphoric.

'You never told me you could dance!' she said to Victor as they walked back towards Marjorie's.

'You never asked!' he retorted.

They soon reached the gate and walked up the garden path. 'I'm glad you came out with me Clara,' Victor said casually when they'd reached the door. Clara struggled to find her keys in her handbag. 'Yeah, me too,' she said. She looked up to see him gazing at her, though as soon as she caught his eye he looked away. She felt her face flush, the small flutter of what must've been a single butterfly in her stomach. Uh oh.

'You still going to work tomorrow then?' he asked.

'That's the plan, whether it actually happens is a different story,' she replied, now fumbling in her pocket for the illusive keys. He chuckled slightly, and silence fell.

'I can't find these keys anywhere,' she complained.

'I might have mine,' he said, finding them easily in the front pocket of his jacket.

He attempted to open the door, though the lock seemed reluctant to open. 'Let me try,' Clara said after a moment, reaching for the key before he had moved away, catching his hands instead. A spark of electricity seemed to pass between them when their hands touched, causing their eyes to meet. They were close, and she wanted to lean in with him when he began to, but her temporarily abandoned rational thoughts returned to her. She remembered the man who gave her chewing gum when she was twelve, the man who used to drop her back home and talk about his wife and daughter Hannah, her best friend. She hesitated, looking into his brown eyes, remembering them as they were in her own time, faded and weathered, not young and vibrant and full of longing. She lowered her head, pulling back from him.

'Sorry, I just...' she said, not knowing where to take the sentence and so leaving it dangling in midair.

'Is it that doctor? He's more than just a friend isn't he?' Victor asked, mortifying her further.

'No it's not him, it's-' she began, wondering how she could possibly explain. He was patiently waiting for the words that would crush him, though neither of them knew yet what they would be.

'It's, it's-,'

'What?' he asked gently, still bracing himself for the worst.

'It's Hannah,' she blurted out unexpectedly, as it was the only thing that filled her mind. Hannah and her dad, Hannah's Dad that Clara now desperately wanted to kiss.

'Who?' Victor asked, puzzled.

'She's, she's my friend, my-' Clara saw him nodding as though he understood, though she had no clue how he could if even she wasn't sure what she was saying.

'Sorry, I didn't know you were that way inclined.'

For a moment Clara stared blankly, then deduced his meaning.

'Oh, yes. Yeah, I'm very much so. I would've told you, but, I didn't think there was a need-'

'No it's fine, really, it's my fault. Let's just forget about it shall we?'

'Yeah, yeah, we should.'

He gave her a thin lipped smile then twisted the key in the lock once more, getting them inside a few moments later.

Clara went upstairs to her bed, wishing Victor a goodnight's sleep, he returned the same, though it was likely neither of them would sleep at all. The remaining hours of darkness would be spent with both of them kicking themselves and hoping the bed would devour them so they would never have to face one another again.


	10. Visit from the Health Inspector

The Doctor parked the TARDIS at a discreet location and briskly walked towards his destination, Oakdale Lane, number 24. He expected a kind older woman to answer the door, as he couldn't imagine who else would decorate their garden with flowerbeds and small stone gnomes, some of which carried fishing rods; not to mention Clara had said she'd taken up residence with someone named Marjorie. He was quite taken aback to see a tall curly haired, puzzled looking young man standing before him instead.

'You're not Marjorie by any chance are you?' the Doctor asked.

The man frowned. 'Do I look like a Marjorie to you?'

The Doctor thought on this. 'I don't know, people don't really look like names to me. Though if I had to guess, I'd say you're more of a Marvin, or Mildred maybe, definitely something beginning with an M,' he mused with a smile.

The man's frown receded slightly, his eyes filling with caution. 'Right, well, unless there's anything else you'd like to tell me-'

'Is there a Marjorie that lives here of have I got the wrong house?'

'No, she does live here, she owns the place. She's just not in at the minute, she's popped down to the shops.'

'Oh, ok. Well, I'm sure you won't mind if I come in for a moment Mr...?'

'Green,' the man said.

'Mr. Green, wonderful. I'm a health service inspector. I know the landlady here has a room up for rent, I just have to check it's up to our standards,' the Doctor said, flashing his physic paper.

'Maybe you should wait until Marjorie gets back-'

'I'll be in and out before you notice Mr. Green.'

The man seemed reluctant, but let up. 'Alright then.'

'Thanks very much,' the Doctor said as Mr. Green opened the door for him.

He followed the him up the stairs, towards the room that Clara would find herself sleeping in the following night.

'So, you live here too?' the Doctor asked, reaching the landing.

'Yeah, I'm in that room there,' he said, nodding to the door across the hall from what would be Clara's room.

'Ooh lovely. Well, I'll just be a tick Mr. Green-'

'Please, you're making me feel old, just call me Victor.'

Something clicked in the Doctor's head, he turned to the man with a sudden interest. 'Victor? Victor Green?'

'Eh, yeah...' Victor said, appearing just that little bit wary of the Doctor again.

'You wouldn't happen to be a plumber would you?' the Doctor then asked, just to be positively sure.

'I would actually, why?' Victor asked, as uneasy as ever.

'Oh it's just, I've heard of you.'

'You have?' he replied, looking doubtful.

'Yeah, my friends highly recommended you. They were great fans of your...pipe...work,' The Doctor bluffed, relieved to see Victor looking a little prideful and not in the least bit suspicious.

'Huh, that's nice of them,' he said, somewhat chuffed. 'Well, just let me know if you need anything else Mr. Health Inspector Sir,' he said, then headed towards his own bedroom.

The Doctor watched him go, then entered the other room, his head lost in a minefield. This was strange, here was a man who in Clara's time had just died, and the Angel's seemed to have sent her back to him for some reason. Was that why there was a three month time block on the year in Leeds? This was certainly more complex than the Angel's usual trick of sending people back to feed off of their time energy. He just couldn't figure out what exactly those pesky statues were up to. He took the envelope which contained Clara's letter and opened it to make a quick addition to his note. He warned her of the significance of Victor's presence, though couldn't even attempt to inform her what it might mean. It was likely she'd have her own ideas about it once she received his message. He just wished there was so easier way to get in contact with her.

He sealed the envelope once more, placed it in the top drawer of the desk, the slipped back out to the TARDIS without another word to Victor. He stood for a moment at the console, his head buzzing with too many thoughts. He knew the best step forward was to return to River with this new information, and see if she'd found anything in her research. Then he'd get working on some way to get in touch with Clara before her three months in Leeds ended. He tried to swallow the ominous thought that it may be too late for her by then.


	11. Tea and Sympathy

Clara had developed a routine by the time a month had passed. She worked every day except Sundays, that's when she watched the match with Victor and Marjorie, sometimes they headed down to the pub, other times the stayed in. They'd have Sunday lunch together, something Marjorie insisted on making for them though Clara had offered to help many times. She was settled in, no longer thinking so much about when she was here or when she could leave, she began to treat it like a work placement.

Three months in Leeds working in retail, that's what it was, maybe not that exotic, but it could've been worse. She was fortunate enough to be in her own country in a recent enough time period, she could have easily ended up anywhere on the planet, or in an entirely different century. She was grateful for the small things, the people that populated her world being the best thing about it.

She'd made a few friends at work, finding that she got on quite well with Julie, both her boss and Victor's sister. Her other co-workers were friendly too, making Clara feel very much at home. From time to time her mind wandered, she wondered what her parents were doing, they were so near to her now and yet so far. What sort of life had they lived three years before she was born? She longed to see her mother again, it had been so long, just to see her smile again would be enough, but she resisted the temptation to travel to where they lived. She could practically hear the Doctor's voice in her head every time her thoughts drifted in that direction, 'don't interfere with your own personal history.' She knew it would be detrimental of course, but still, she had been dumped into the past of her best friend's father, wasn't that in itself interfering with stuff that was a little too close to home? Well, if it was, it was hardly her fault at any cost, and the Doctor wasn't around to ask, so the question lingered, unanswered.

It was one particular Saturday night almost half way through the second month of her stay that Clara felt herself missing her strange alien friend. As much as she did have to admit she rather liked it here, it wasn't the same without somebody to share it with. She left her bedroom, the Doctor's letter laying open on the bed, having been read through for the one hundredth time. She entered the kitchen and discovered Victor in there, washing up after a late dinner. He had a dish and towel in his hand, slowly drying one with the other, staring into the distance before him, off in his own world. Clara opened the fridge, causing him to turn to her as though just realising she was there.

'Did you have bangers and mash again tonight?' she asked, the aroma still present in the kitchen. 'Yeah, it's finally gone. If I never see another sausage in my life it'll be too soon.'

She smiled, taking the milk from the fridge and some tea bags from the cupboard. She filled the kettle and set it to boil. 'How long did those leftovers last you?'

'Too long. Don't tell Marjorie, she'll give me a lecture to rival my mum,' he said, making her chuckle.

'Do you want some tea?' she offered.

'Yeah ok,' he replied, and she set aside a mug for him, dropping a tea bag into it.

'How was work?' he asked.

'Ok. Quiet today, but ok,' she said.

'Yeah, Julie was saying. That's bad weather for you,' Victor said, finally putting the plate away at reaching for his knives and forks, 'barely anyone goes down to the shops in the rain.'

Clara watched him, noticing that despite his usual cheery tone when he spoke to her, there was something off about his whole demeanour. Her heart sank slightly, thinking of where he would end up in the future. She glanced over at the worktop, her eyes falling on a book. 'Ooh, more philosophy? What's this one like?' she said, stepping over to the book and picking it up.

'It's a lot harder to get into than the other one. Full of big ridiculous words I've never heard before. I doubt I'll even get through it. It's about time I gave up on this whole philosophy business. It's for proper educated people, not the likes of me,' he said. Clara paused in her flicking through of the book's pages.

'You come across one difficult book and you're just going to pack it all in? Just like that?' she asked, disheartened.

'Yep, that's me, thick and a quitter,' he said with a forced smile, his self-deprecating humour barely concealing what was beneath.

He turned his back to her, picking up the last of his cutlery and returning them to the drawer. The kettle reached boiling point then, Clara placed the book back where she'd found it and went to tend to it. There was silence as she got their drinks together, Victor busying himself with organising his cupboard.

'Tea's ready,' she said after a moment, holding out his mug to him. He turned and took it from her with a sheepish 'thanks,' and minimal eye contact. Her eyes didn't leave him as he turned to go.

'Are you alright Victor?' she asked before he had reached the kitchen door. He stopped and half faced her with a frown. 'Yeah I'm fine,' he said, trying to hide the defensive edge in his tone and failing.

'Are you?' she added, not allowing him off the hook.

He gazed back at her, as though not sure what he thought of her and the questions she asked of him. His stare seemed to continue forever, Clara held it, suspended in this moment, disconnected from everything else that existed in the world.

'How did you know Clara?' he asked.

'Know what?'

He shuffled slightly, facing her fully. 'Ages ago, the first night you were here, you said- you asked me if there was anything wrong, if I would tell someone.'

'And you said you would, but I don't think you were being honest, and I don't think you are now either.'

Victor was silent, he gazed into his mug, not out of awkwardness now, but something deeper. Clara sipped her tea, then lowered it to the counter, stepping closer to where he stood, in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room.

'What's wrong Victor?' she asked.

His head lowered further still, he began to trace the rim of his mug with his spare hand.

'I don't know,' he admitted. 'How are you supposed to tell someone when you don't even know what it is yourself?' he asked his tea, Clara picked up her own cup and began to direct him to the sofa in the other room. 'Come on, let's sit down and just talk. Tell me whatever comes into your head, even if you think it doesn't make any sense.'

He nodded slowly, face reddening slightly. She tried not to think of how strange this was, comforting her friend's father almost like a mother would. She paused those thoughts away and listened to Victor.

They stayed up well into the early hours, Victor speaking of his strange unexplained sadness, his dread of everyday life; and how he felt like he'd never be anything other than useless at whatever he put his hand to anyway, so why even bother trying? Clara offered advice, talked him through some of the more manageable problems, but most of all she just listened. That's what she knew he needed most of all, just a listening ear so he could hear his own words back and begin to make sense of them. They'd used up almost every tea bag in the house, and ended up drifting off right there on the couch together, much too tired to make the journey upstairs to their cold, separate beds.


	12. The Angel's Arrangement

'Back again so soon?'

'I won't make a habit of it I promise.'

'I'm not complaining. So, you sent a message yes?'

'Yes, I left one in the drawer of the room where Clara's staying. Whether she's found it or not I don't know,' the Doctor told River, wringing his hands in frustration.

'Sit down dear, there's no point in using up all your energy on wearing out my carpet,' River said, putting away her fifty-first century laptop, complete with holographic technology.

The Doctor reluctantly obliged, sitting opposite her, automatically putting his feet up on the desk, though given its height, it was somewhat of a stretch.

River raised both her eyebrows. 'If you were anyone else you're head and body would no longer be attached to one another. Feet. Down,' she ordered.

The Doctor huffed and did as she asked, not daring to admit that it was actually much more comfortable to sit properly.

'There's more to it than I thought River. When I went to the house I met a man there, Victor Green, a man who in Clara's time had just died. Coincidence I think not, and the Time Lock, the three months where Clara's stuck are blocked. The TARDIS can't reach them. That's not average Angel behaviour is it?'

'No, it certainly isn't. This man, Victor Green, do you know how he died?'

The Doctor thought back. Clara had to go home for her friend, her friend's dad's funeral. Had it been a heart attack? Wait no...

'It was, yeah, a suicide,' he said.

River looked up at him as though she'd happened upon a great discovery.

'Well why didn't you say so?!' she said, almost scolding him. She leapt up from her desk and reached for a book from one of her vast shelves. 'What? What is it?' The Doctor asked, back on his feet and standing next to her, the prospect of a breakthrough leaving him much too excitable to remain seated.

'I came across this the other day, yes here it is,' she said, landing on a page and pointing to the paragraph she'd highlighted. 'The _Angel's developed a way to create Time Locks in order to defend against interferences from Timelords or any other species with access to Time travel who may have sought to undo their work._'

'Clever stone little-'

River turned to him, waiting.

'Never mind, go on.'

She did, _'These Time Locks rarely get much use, but there are certain instances where they are needed_.'

River skimmed the rest of the page and flicked passed the next few.

'I know there was more. It spoke about suicides in Angel infested areas and how it's toxic for them.'

'Toxic?'

'Ah, here it is.' The Doctor followed her finger, reading as she did.

_If the suicide of another species (eg. human) takes place in an area where a Weeping Angel dwells, it contaminates the energy source. The act of suicide is a deliberate ending of life, which leaks Time energy. Though the suicide victim leaves behind the potential of the days they would have lived, this energy differs from that of those who have been displaced in Time by Angels. _

_Time displacement victims have been sent back without choice and under control of an Angel, therefore creating positive Time energy for the Angel to feed off of. _

_Suicide victims died by their own hand, therefore their brand of Time energy acts as a contaminant to the Angel, which possess no power over the victim. _

_It is only suicides which contaminate the Angel's energy source and not other sudden or violent deaths. This is because suicide works in a similar way to Time Displacement in terms of potential Time Energy left behind, but the essential difference is that the victim themselves released the energy and not an Angel. _

_If the contamination in the area where the Angel dwells goes untreated, it can be fatal. If the Angel moves leaves the dwelling, it will infect any other Angel it comes in contact with. Suicide contamination is deadly, which is why the Angel's employ many methods to heal the damage. _

_The most common method is to displace anyone that comes in contact with the infected Angel in Time, usually sending them to the suicide victim in an earlier period in their lives in order to prevent the suicide from taking place, therefore decontaminating the Angels.'_

'Well that's it then! That's why they've got Clara!' the Doctor exclaimed. River nodded. 'But that's just it. If they've sent Clara back to prevent Victor's suicide, then what if you taking her back after three months undoes their whole plan?'

'Let's see, Clara's back where she belongs, a Weeping Angel stops terrorising people. Everybody wins!' he said, his wife then bursting his bubble by shaking her head.

'I'm afraid it's not that easy. The Angel's don't just give up if it doesn't work the first time. The weaker they get the more desperate they become. They'll keep sending people back until one of them can make a difference in Victor's life, and then, as a punishment for making them ill in the first place, they'll probably send him back as far as they can, into the Dark Ages, or some other bleak period in history.'

The Doctor looked at her, the wind rightly blown out of his sails. 'Oh, so what can we do then? I can't just leave Clara in 1986 forever, it's bad enough she'd stuck there for three months!'

'You can get her out Doctor, you'll find a way, I know you will, but be careful, you know how clever these Angels can be.'

'I know, I know only too well,' he said, more to himself than River, thinking of Amy and Rory stepping off from the side of that building, of them disappearing from his side in the graveyard. What was it with Angel's and graveyards? As if the places weren't morbid enough on their own.

'So what are my options then? Take Clara out, Victor will still die, and we still have the Angel to deal with; leave Clara there, Victor might die anyway and the Angel will keep sending people back to try and save him, only to force him to live to death somewhere else ultimately, and Clara can't get home.'

'You'll think of something, you always do,' she reassured him, closing the book and placing it back up on its shelf.

'What if I don't this time?' he asked, voicing his doubts that were building with every moment. She looked at him, her blue eyes meeting his.

'What if I get it wrong?' he said.

'Why would you?'

'I have before River. The same girl, Clara Oswald, twice already I wasn't able save her. I couldn't live with myself if it happens again.'

She took his hand, firmly but softly, in hers. 'Then don't let it,' she said, her voice just above a whisper.

He took heed of her words, then found himself doing the unthinkable, leaning in to kiss her instead of waiting for her initiation.

They pulled apart a moment later, River's lips raised in a small smile. 'Don't doubt yourself Doctor, that's the last thing you should do right now. You'll find her, you'll save her; but only if you trust that you will.'


	13. Instincts

**Author's Note: This didn't seem to upload properly yesterday, hopefully it will work now. **

They spent a lot of time together, too much perhaps, thought Clara, knowing these feelings she harboured were inappropriate, not in this time maybe, but because of her past; his future, it was wrong. She would have to somehow stop falling for unsuitable men, first the Doctor, now this. But it was different, she knew already that her feelings for Victor surpassed the crush she'd had on the Doctor. Victor was more open, willing to share, but still mysterious too, maybe not as mysterious as a time-travelling alien who'd lived for over a thousand years, but still, as humans went, he was intriguing; to Clara at least.

They connected somehow, in a way she had never known before; and though she couldn't be sure, she sensed at times that he felt it too. It was strange to think of him now as a father of her friend, the man she now knew was someone else, a person entirely separate from who she'd talked to from time to time growing up. She didn't want to think of him as Hannah's father, because every time she did that guilty pang rose within her and made her detest her own conflicted feelings.

He had changed in the time she'd lived with him and Marjorie. He seemed to have relearned how to find joy in everyday things. It wasn't as though whatever melancholia had plagued him had disappeared, but there was more light in his life now, more happy days to balance out the bad ones. It delighted Clara to see him smile, to hear him talk about some new idea he had, or discuss with her something he's read in one of his philosophy books.

One evening after work Clara was finishing up her dinner when he entered the kitchen.

'You're back,' he said. 'There's something I want to show you when you're done.'

Clara looked up, the excitement emitted from him like sun rays. He was childlike in some ways, barely able to contain his delight at some discovery he'd made. She only just stopped herself from grinning inwardly.

'Ooh, what's the big surprise?' she asked, picking up some pasta with her fork.

'Not much, just something I've been working on for a while,' he said.

'Ah, this I have to see,' she said. She quickly finished her dinner, telling Victor about the strange customer who appeared and disappeared from the shop several times throughout the day but didn't buy anything. He helped her wash up, telling her that he'd been out in the garden planting with Marjorie.

'Weren't you the busy lad today?' she asked.

'Yep. Not mending people's toilets for once too.'

She smiled. 'Right then, show me this wonder you're hiding.'

'You're hyping it up yourself now, it's going to be majorly disappointing once you actually see it,' he replied, walking out into the living room. Clara followed him to the hall and up the stairs.

He opened the door to his bedroom, nodding his head at her to follow. She crossed the threshold, her eyes scanning the room. It was much bigger than hers, fitting a double bed and not a cramped single like Clara's. The walls were a wine colour, the dark brown wooden furniture complimenting it. His desk and shelves were cluttered with books, all of the spaces in his room unorganised but seeming to have some sort of system to them that Victor must have been able to understand. He picked something up from his desk and turned to her with it.

'What do you think?' he asked.

In his hands was a wooden object, something that was shaped into a bird house, a small circular hole next to a cylindrical perch at one end, and a tiny chimney placed atop the small roof.

'Victor this is adorable!' Clara said.

'Really, do you think so?' he asked, appearing sheepish due to her compliment.

'Yeah! How did you get time to make it?'

'This guy at work mentioned having a workshop in his garage, his brother did some carpentry, showed me how to do a few basic things one day. It was in exchange for doing covering one of his shifts.'

'That's brilliant, can I see it?' she asked, reaching out for it.

'Yeah sure,' he said, handing the well crafted birdhouse over carefully.

Clara studied it, turning it over in her hands. It wasn't the most intricate of designs, but still pleasant in its simplicity, and certainly a decent project for a first time carpenter. 'It's wonderful, I really like it. Have you shown Marjorie?'

'Yeah, she's fond of it, said she wants to put it up in the garden. She even asked if I'd make another one for the back,' he said.

'Oh lovely, it's look great out there, next to the creepers,' she said, and he nodded.

'So not a total disaster then?' he asked, double checking that he had her approval.

'Not even close,' she said, placing it back in his hands.

Their eyes met over the birdhouse, and Clara's butterflies danced. Their population had increased with time, by now there was a whole swarm of them, each trying its best to get her attention. She averted her eyes and took her hands away, moving further into the room. 'You're bed is so much bigger than mine,' she commented, saying whatever came to her mind as it did, even though her statement sounded like the beginning of the dullest conversation in history. She sat down at the end of the bed. 'Is it?' he said, placing his birdhouse back on the desk and turning to her. 'Yeah, I got the box room didn't I?'

'Apparently so.'

'How long have you lived here?' she asked then, running her hands up and down the bed covers to keep them occupied.

'A few years. Time to be moving out soon enough I think. I'm nearly thirty, I don't want to be here my whole life.'

'I know the feeling,' Clara said, thinking of how long she'd spent living with and taking care of Angie and Artie when she'd only intended for a short visit.

She lay back on the bed, looking up at the roof, white and cracked in quite a few places.

'If I had this bed I'd stretch out like a starfish every night, I'd never share with anyone,' she said, waving her arms up and down, as though creating a snow angel.

'Really, no one? Not even, what was her name, Hannah?'

Hearing him say his daughter's name threw her off. She sat up.

'Who?' she asked, confused.

'Your girlfriend?' he asked with a frown.

'Oh, right,' she said, her hands falling into her lap and knotting together. 'I forgot I told you that,' she said under her breath.

'You don't talk about her much, considering,' he remarked.

'Yeah, see I-' she hesitated, no longer wanted to lie to him but afraid that he might be hurt by knowing that she had in the first place.

'Hannah's- she's not my girlfriend. She never was. I'm not even a lesbian, I just said that because- Well I don't know why, it just came out-'

'Hey it's fine. I understand. It's a nice way of letting me know you're not interested without coming right out and telling me to back off. It's ok, I get it. I've had much harsher rejections in my time, believe me,' Victor said, laughing it off.

Clara gaped at him, not knowing what to say.

'I sort of figured anyway, the way you talk about that doctor friend of yours, doesn't sound like the words of a girl who's only interested in the ladies.'

She was now even more dumbfounded an more than a little embarrassed. 'Victor I- You've got the complete wrong end of the stick here.'

'You don't have to justify yourself Clara, I don't mind-' he began.

'No just, listen to me for a second,' she cut across.

'Ok..?' he said, then waited.

'There's nothing happening between me and the Doctor, genuinely nothing. Maybe I might have had a teeny tiny crush on him before, but not anymore,' she said, surprised not only to have said these words aloud but to have admitted this to Victor of all people. 'I didn't want to reject you, I just- I had to,' she said, staring into her lap. He shifted his weight slightly, gazing at her from his vantage point over by the shelves. She wished she hadn't said anything and could just leave the room, but it was much too late for that now. It had to get worse before it got better.

'Why?' he asked.

She sighed. 'I can't explain, it's complicated.'

'Complicated how?' he pressed on, stepping forward, moving closer to her now, adding to her discomfort. Her heart was beating too fast, all coherent thought had deserted her.

'It just is, you wouldn't understand.'

He sat now, on the bed next to her, leaving just a minimal amount of distance between them.

'Try me,' he insisted.

She looked up at him, trying to find the right words. She became lost in him instead, seeing the details of him, his neck, Adam's apple protruding at his throat, a defined chin, though not large enough to poke out one's eye. She forced herself to skim passed his lips, knowing that dwelling there for too long would not be a good decision. She settled on his eyes instead, looking right back into hers, that connection she felt with him stronger than ever, almost burning right through her.

'I can't, because of who you are- I can't have you,' she said, voice almost a whisper, unable to sustain eye contact with him, and so gazing down again at her hands which refused to stay still.

He gently placed his hand over hers to get her attention.

'But do you want me?' he asked, as if he just needed to know where he stood, even if she said no, an answer alone would satisfy him. So couldn't lie, not while she this close to him.

Her rational thoughts began a running commentary, an urgent message they sent to her, _he's Hannah's dad_, they said, over and over, a rousing chorus that got louder, shouting at her, screaming. Even they could not rival the sound of her own heart beating in her ears, her stomach swooping and swirling, giddy with excitement. He wasn't Hannah's dad, not yet, another voice told her, this one more ethereal, more in tune with the rest of her. He was a man not much older than herself who appeared to desire her just as much as she desired him. Why allow a future which could be changed dictate her decisions in the present?

Her eyes fell to that forbidden place, his lips, and before she could take heed of those warning voices, she leaned forward and kissed him. Her hand snaked up to his shoulder, his neck, and his too laced around her. They held the kiss a long time, eventually breaking apart not even an inch before kissing again. Clara gently began to part his lips with her tongue and he responded, opening his mouth, deepening the kiss. Both the pounding of her heart and the stirring in her loins were enough to silence those voices that clung to their chorus as long as they could before eventually conceding defeat. Clara's single bed in her box room stayed empty that night, though it was a long time before she actually went to sleep in Victor's spacious double.


	14. Bliss

She lay in his arms the following night, leaning her head against his chest, her hand against his heart, feeling every beat. It was raining outside, the gentle pitter-patter against the window never ceased, but it was relaxing. Clara gazed up at that white cracked ceiling, lit only by the one candle Victor kept in his room. He'd taken it down from the attic in an attempt to make things that little bit more romantic.

Clara had come home that evening from work, liberally drenched from the miniature rain storm she'd had to endure while walking home. She wasted no time and jumped into the shower straight away, coming out to find that Victor was in the process of preparing dinner for them both.

He'd had something else to show her that evening, and it was more than just the extra tidy state of his bedroom, though that too was a pleasant surprise. 'I'm sure you've had cheap friendship bracelets from pound shops in your time that were nicer than this, but still, I thought I'd make this anyway, on the off chance you're into crappy wooden jewellery,' he said, holding out his gift. It was a beaded bracelet, darker than the birdhouse, every alternative bead was painted navy. It was smooth to touch, covered as it was in a healthy dose of varnish. Clara was flattered, her heart soaring at the thoughts of him going to the effort of making something special for her. Yet it was more than that, she was touched. 'Honestly, feel free to tell me if it's rubbish, I don't mind.'

'You really need to have more faith in yourself Vic. It's gorgeous, I love it,' she told him, making him beam.

They'd found themselves in his bed again that night, and as Clara lay there with his arm encircling her, she realised there was nowhere else she'd rather be. Nowhere in the whole of time or space could be as blissful as this tranquillity. A car passed outside, its lights seeping through the curtains and illuminating the ceiling as it passed. Clara admired the beauty of its simplicity.

'Maybe I'll just stay here,' she thought aloud. 'Why bother going home? I've got everything I need right here.' Her ideas began to elaborate and so she voiced them. 'I'm a qualified teacher, I could get a job here, just as easily as at home. Or, I dunno, I get set up my own classes.'

'Yeah, you should. I'll build you your own school house,' Victor said, making her chuckle.

'I will. I'll build little desks and a blackboard. I'll even get the plumbing up and running.'

'And you could teach night classes in philosophy,' she added.

'I should probably attend a few first so I actually know what I'm on about.'

They laughed, bodies vibrating against one another.

'Wouldn't it be so nice?' she said wistfully.

They lay there, pondering this idealised future that they imagined lay ahead of them. Clara sat up slightly, facing him and toying with his hair while he gently pushed a loose strand of hers back behind her ear.

'I don't want you to go home,' he said, his voice soft.

'I won't,' she told him. 'I'll stay here with you.'

His lips raised in a slight smile, she leaned forward and kissed him, not wanting to contemplate the consequences that these words would cause if she followed through with them. She refused to let her mind think of anything outside of this one moment with Victor and how harmonious the universe felt within it.


	15. Wake Up Call

It was the weekend when everything changed. Since her first night with Victor Clara had been floating around in a dreamy state, content with her life and everything in it. Even her long shifts at work couldn't dampen her mood. They'd gone to the cinema the previous evening, followed by the pub, playing several games of darts that Clara surprisingly seemed to have a knack for. The following day they sat Marjorie down and insisted that it was their turn to cook while she put her feet up. The weather had changed its tune and began to look more like spring. It was such a pleasant, sunny day that they decided to lunch outside. It had been a good decision, despite one persistent bee that had its eye on their eggrolls. When they'd finished, Victor had returned to the kitchen with most of their dishes when Marjorie took Clara aside on the patio.

'Is it just my imagination dear, or is it you that's making Victor so happy?' she asked as both women picked up the glassware from the table. Clara felt her face flush and was unable to make eye contact with her landlady. 'What do you mean?'

'Well, you're spending a lot of time together, am I mistaken in thinking it's in more than just a friendly manner?'

More waves of mortification swam through Clara, she was fifteen again and trying to explain to her mum that she was seeing her first boyfriend.

There was no point in denying it she supposed, but still, having Marjorie know about their relationship this early on was something she'd rather not have to deal with.

'I suppose you could say that,' Clara admitted, examining a wine stain on one of the glasses in her hands. Marjorie grinned like a proud mother.

'I'm glad to hear it. Really, I can't remember the last time I've seen him this cheery. You're well suited,' she said.

Clara gave her an awkward 'thanks,' before returning to the kitchen, glasses in hand and blood filling her face.

The afternoon was relaxed, they sat watching rubbishy television and reading through the newspapers while Marjorie made the most of the good weather tending to her garden.

'Do you want to go somewhere next weekend?' Victor asked from the other side of the couch as Clara flicked between the limited amount of channels, trying to find something that would grate on her nerves the least.

'Like where?'

'I dunno, Blackpool or somewhere?'

Clara looked up, she'd been to Blackpool as a child a few times. Her memories weren't great, the most prominent one she had was of dropping her sandwich and watching a seagull taking off with it. But that was then, going back as an adult with someone she was guaranteed to have fun with was bound to be a somewhat different experience.

'Yeah sure,' she said. 'I could take Saturday off, I just hope the weather's nice.'

At that point the phone rang, Victor answered it, then returned to the living room looking less than pleased. 'I've got to go, plumbing emergency,' he said, pulling his jacket on.

'Let me guess, it's a toilet?'

'Yep. It's always the flaming toilets!' he said, exasperated. Clara couldn't help chuckling to herself. She wished him luck and he was off, leaving Clara to steal his newspaper and have a read through it. It was a surreal experience as always reading old news when it was still new to the people of 1986. She headed to a friend's for tea after tiring of the newspaper, and when she returned in the evening Victor still wasn't home.

She walked up stairs to her room, planning to make the most of her time alone; at least that was her intention. She only managed to get half an hour of undisturbed peace in which she immersed herself in the world of a paperback novel she'd picked up at the shop, when suddenly a figure appeared just inside her bedroom door. It was blue, transparent and flickering, but still unmistakably familiar.

'Doctor?' she said, both startled and glad to see him. She put her book aside and sat closer to the edge of her bed.

'What are you doing here as a- what exactly are you?'

'A projection, from inside the TARDIS. Give me a second,' he said, his voice making her feel as though she was right back in the ship with him. He lifted his sonic screwdriver and pointed it up at something she couldn't see. That cleared up his signal somewhat, he no longer jumped around like a television in bad weather, but he was still very much just an image and not solid.

'Finally you're here! I've tried to beam myself in here for the last week but you never seem to be in your room, not even at night! Don't you sleep?'

'Of course I sleep! Just not always in here,' she said, hoping the Doctor wouldn't question her further on the matter.

'Right well, I have some information for you. I've been consulting Professor Song and we've come to a few conclusions. We think we know why you're here.'

'Great, why?' Clara asked.

'They don't like suicide the Angels, so they've sent you back to try and prevent it. That's why you've ended up in Victor's past. Suicide happening where an Angel lives contaminates them, they need to stop the suicide from ever happening to heal themselves.'

'Oh, ok. That makes sense, sort of. So what does that mean for me?'

'Our plan goes as normal, I take you out after the Time Lock and then we deal with the Angel.'

'Deal with the Angel how?'

The Doctor blinked. 'I haven't quite figured that bit out yet, but I'm working on it.'

Clara shook her head, and smiled slightly, of course she should've known not to expect anything different. Once this might have worried her, but she felt strangely distant from it now.

'Anyway, there's nothing else dangerous going on is there? You haven't seen any mannequins come to life recently? Any politicians acting strange? People disappearing, anything of the sort?'

Clara considered his question. 'Nothing comes to me off the top of my head. It's all been sort of...normal. It's quite nice actually.'

The Doctor seemed to turn his nose up slightly. 'Well just once things stay boring for another few weeks we'll be in the clear.'

She found herself a little irked by this description. 'I said _nice_ not boring. You don't have to be in danger of dying every day to have fun.'

The Doctor screwed his face up even more.

'You know actually I was thinking, three months seems a bit short now. I mean, there's only one or two weeks left really. Maybe I'll stick around for another while. How about I just see how things go and you pop round six months from now instead?'

He was puzzled by this. 'But, I thought you wanted to come home?'

'Well it's not going anywhere is it? Not when you've got a friend who can time travel.'

'I thought- you said you didn't like it there, you were dying to get out,' he said.

'That was ages ago. I barely knew the place, I like it now. It's like a holiday, kind of.'

'You're rejecting the whole rest of the universe for the 80's in Leeds?' he asked, appalled.

'Maybe I am!' she said, getting defensive now. 'What does it matter to you anyway? You can just skip forward 'til then and see me in five minutes if you want.'

'That's not the point. It doesn't make any sense. Why would a girl who had 101 Places she wanted to see be content with staying in the same country in the recent past?' he said, asking himself the question. Clara said nothing. She was annoyed now, she never would've thought her first glimpse of her friend in months could drive her into such a foul mood.

'What is it that you like about it there Clara?'

'I don't know! All of it! The place, the people-'

'The people,' the Doctor repeated. 'Anyone in particular?'

She hated his sudden perceptive ability. 'I don't know, I just mean in general-'

'What about that Landlady of yours, Marjorie, do you get on with her?'

'Yeah, as much as someone does with someone who gives them a place to sleep. Doctor what has this got to do with the Angels? Or anything else for that matter?'

'What about Victor?'

Bracing herself for this question hadn't made a difference to how she reacted when he finally voiced it. 'What about him? He's a nice bloke. Is there anyone else you want to know about? The lady who goes jogging at eight in the morning? The man across the street who mumbles to himself?'

There was a pause in which the holographic Doctor simply stared at her, and somehow this was far worse than any of his probing questions.

'You've fallen for him haven't you?' the Doctor enquired. She looked down at her bedcovers.

'I- This really isn't any of your business Doctor.'

That confirmed it for him. 'You have! Clara?! What were you thinking?!' he scolded, making her feel like an unruly child.

'So what? Why does it matter? What difference does it make?' she said, raising her voice.

'It changes everything Clara! Don't you realise that? You humans! You never think do you? You just plough straight into situations without considering the consequences!' he said, waving his arms about in frustration.

'Hey, there's no need to have a go at me. Just tell me what it means.'

'What it means Clara, is that this situation just got a whole lot messier. If I take you back a few weeks from now then not only will you _not_ have prevented Victor's suicide, you could be what leads to it. He could spend the rest of his life not loving his wife or his children but pining over you; until one day he can't take it anymore and ends it all. You could set those wheels in motion Clara, you could cause it, you could kill him!' the Doctor ranted.

She felt as though she'd just been stabbed his words cut so deep; meanwhile her stomach was a pit of fiery rage just waiting to boil over. 'Doctor! How can you say something so horrible? How dare you!'

'I'm just telling it like it is. If you don't like it well I'm sorry but it's too late.'

'Well I'll just stay here then, I won't have to leave him!'

'And then what? Time bleeds together, your future and your past mix. If he stays with you then he may never meet Hannah's mother. Hannah will never be born. She won't have existed Clara, your own memories will start to change. This is why you can't meddle with your own personal history. The Timelords had rules to stop this kind of thing from happening.'

'Yeah well, the Timelords are gone Doctor, there's only you,' she said, speaking out of spite to try and cut him as badly as his words had cut her. He looked back at her, projection faltering slightly before stabilising again. 'So what are you going to do? Are you going to help me, or continue yelling at me for being human?'

Guilt appeared in his face then, he looked down. 'I'm sorry, but that's how serious this situation is Clara. Be careful what you choose.'

'So those are my options: Victor dies or Hannah never existed? There's no way to save both of them?' she asked, her heart already beginning to twinge at this prospect.

'You might be able to save him Clara, but he has to know the truth, he has to know why you must leave. He needs to understand; that might make it easier.'

Her conflicted, aching heart sank then, she could already see the end of her days with Victor when they were only just beginning.

'I have to tell him?' she asked, her voice softer now, deflated.

The Doctor nodded. 'You do. I can't stay Clara. I probably won't be able to contact you again. But I'll come for you. I'll be there on the date I've written in the letter.'

She nodded, unable to look at him, a lump slowly rising in her throat. 'Til then Doctor,' she forced herself to say.

''Til then Clara Oswald. Good luck. I know you'll make the right decision,' he said, offering her a slight smile which she attempted to return.

Just like that he was gone, he flickered from existence, the same way that Hannah would if Clara so selfishly decided to stay with her father. She heard movement downstairs. Victor must've finally returned, the sound of him rattling around the kitchen would have warmed her heart before the Doctor's message, not it just filled her stomach with dread. She lay back on her bed, consumed by the unfairness of this harsh situation. She succumbed to tears, crying into her pillow, wishing that someone, anyone would come and tell her that it was just some mistake, that everything would be alright. But it wasn't, it wouldn't.


	16. Truth

'We probably shouldn't do this anymore,' she said, her voice solemn, hating the words that it was forced to speak.

'Do what?' he asked, warily.

'This, us,' she replied. She'd entered his room a few minutes after hearing him come up. She'd recovered somewhat from her bout of tears, but there was no guarantee that they wouldn't threaten to spill over once again. She stood before him as he put away his tool box, finally biting the bullet and telling him what she loathed to say.

'Oh,' he said, disappointment ringing in his tone. 'But, I thought things were going, I dunno, sort of good.'

'They were, they are. It's not that it's-' she sighed. 'Remember when I told you I can't have you?'

He nodded. 'You never said why.'

He stepped closer to her, she almost couldn't bear to look at him. 'I'm not from here. Not just this place, but this time. I'm from the future, from 2013,' she told Victor, then waited for his reaction. He stared back at her, not looking bewildered or disbelieving, but angry.

'You're full of it you are. First you pretend you're a lesbian now this? Why can't you just tell me you don't want to be with me? Just say it!'

She closed the distance between them, needing him to understand. 'That's not true Vic!' she took his hands, he tried to pull away but she wouldn't let him. 'Look I can prove it!' she turned from him, reaching into her handbag that she'd left on his desk. She shuffled through it, locating her purse.

She began taking cards out of it, placing them on the bed where she sat down.

'What are you doing?' he asked, frustrated, sitting down across from her.

'Look,' she said, holding up her driver's license.

He took it from her, looking closely at her date of birth. 'Did you get this at a joke shop?'

'No I didn't, it's real. Why would I make this up? Why would I go to the trouble?'

He looked from her to the licence and back again, still doubtful. He gave it back to her and she handed him something else. She'd forgotten about this small photoset, but there it was still in her handbag, a little worse for wear but still intact.

'What's this?' he asked.

'It's me and Hannah. Not my girlfriend, but my best friend. I grew up with her.'

'What does this prove?'

'Look at the date on the back.'

He did as she asked, the numbers 2013 staring back at him.

'You know her Victor, not now but you will. She's your daughter.'

He allowed this to sink in, gazing at the blonde girl in the photo with new interest. He shook his head and thrust it back to her, saying, 'what else is there? I suppose I've got a secret evil twin from another dimension as well do I?'

'Victor please-'

'This is sick,' he stated, interrupting her. 'Why would you show me all this? What's wrong with you?'

'I need you to believe me. If I stay here then everything changes. Hannah might never be born.'

'Then why did you come here in the first place?' he demanded.

'It was an accident! I've told you. There are these creatures, these Weeping Angels, they send people back in time. That's how I got here, it was a mistake. That's why my friend is the only one that can bring me back. He's not just a doctor, he's _the_ Doctor, a Time traveller. He's the only one who can fix all this.'

He did nothing but stare into the photo of Clara and Hannah that gazed back at him from the bed covers.

'I don't believe you,' he said, voice barely audible.

Clara knew by the way that he said this that was a white lie. The trouble was not that he didn't believe, but that he didn't want to.

She gently took his hand in hers. 'It's how it has to be Vic, there's no other way.'

'But what if I don't want this future? It hasn't happened for me yet, why can't we change it?'

'That would mean erasing Hannah from history. She'll never exist. I can't do that to her.'

He looked down, understanding the depth of her dilemma. 'Will I see you again in the future? When you'll actually remember all of this?'

She nodded. 'Twenty seven years from now,' she said quietly.

'I'm twenty seven now, that's a whole lifetime away!'

Clara lowered her head, her heart was swooping painfully with each word he spoke, that lump was returning to its former residence in her throat. She forced herself to come to her senses, letting go of his hand and standing up. 'I should go. It'll be better if we just end things now,' she already had her back to him, knowing her voice would falter if she looked at him.

'Don't go,' he said, lightly grabbing her wrist. 'You'll be fine Victor, you'll find someone who you'll be much better off with than me,' she said, turning away again. He still didn't let go.

'But I love you,' he said, twisting the knife inside her stomach, driving those dreaded tears forward. She closed her eyes, mind in turmoil. When had this wonderful dream transformed into such a nightmare? 'Don't say that Vic. Don't make it harder,' she said, unable to look at him, finally wrenching her hand free. She headed towards the door trying to keep herself from totally dissolving into a crying mess until she was in the safety of her own bedroom. She heard him clambering over the bed and tried to leave the room before he was at her side again, but she wasn't quite fast enough.

'Wait, please,' he said. She wiped her eyes, swallowing that lump and turning to him. 'Stay with me 'til it's over. I can't just stand back for the next few weeks and pretend like nothing's happened.'

She said nothing, busy as she was trying to keep herself composed. 'Please Clara, if we don't have a future then at least let's have right now.'

She sighed, seeing his logic. She caved then, unable to resist any longer. She leaned forward and embraced him tightly, as if he was the only thing keeping her rooted to the Earth as it spun around. He held her, his hands in her hair as she rested her head against his chest. They stood like that for a long time, holding on to one another as if the rest of the world was trying to pull them apart.


	17. Saying Goodbye

They made each day, each hour, each minute count. They did go to Blackpool at the weekend. The weather mostly overcast and a little drizzly, but still they made the most of it despite this. They had to savour every moment, turning to bad ones into good ones if the situation called for it. Still, with every day and night that passed Clara knew she was ever closer to the day when she had to say goodbye to him for good. She felt less and less prepared as the date drew closer, though it wasn't a journey she'd ever truly be ready for. She hadn't told Marjorie the truth, just said that she'd been offered a work placement and accommodation back in London and she had to take it.

'That's great news Clara! But I'll not like having you go away from us. It won't be the same without you,' she said, a sad sort of smile on her face.

All too soon the eve of her departure arrived. She spent quite a large part of the day trying to make the perfect soufflé for Marjorie and Victor as a sort of parting gift. She felt strange waves of déjà vu as she packed a small bag of the stuff she'd accumulated during her time in Leeds. It was like when she'd finished college, and before that school. Though the time period had been much shorter, it had been her way of life for a while and now it was over. She had to move on and leave it all behind, unable to ever return. Victor insisted on making dinner for her that night, and so they sat to some lasagne, Marjorie also joining them.

'You'll come back and visit us though won't you?' the woman asked.

'I'll try my best,' Clara replied, knowing it was a promise she could never fulfil. Victor caught her eye, the sad smile he gave making her aware that he too knew this.

They sat watching TV later, just Victor and Clara, not paying any of the programmes the slightest bit of attention, just holding tightly to each other, as though almost afraid to let go.

'When do you think he'll arrive?'

'No idea. Like I said, for a Time traveller he's not the best at keeping time.'

'So he could show up first thing in the morning then?' he asked.

'It's a possibility.'

Victor sighed. 'What if I just don't let him in? I'll say you're my hostage and he can't have you unless he gives me a million pounds.'

'That won't work as well as you think. He'll find a way to get it. The Doctor will give into any demands you have.'

'Why didn't you tell me that before? I would've had the chance to get creative.'

Clara so badly wanted to invite him for a trip in the TARDIS, but she knew herself too well to ask. If he got one trip he'd never want to leave, and if that happened, well she was back to square one, meddling about with Hannah's life, her own personal history.

'You'll be alright won't you?' she asked, looking at him. He let go of a soft sigh, his eyes meeting hers.

'I'll have to be, won't I?' he replied.

'But really, whenever you feel down, you have to tell someone. Promise me that Vic,' she insisted.

'I promise,' he replied, eyes not wavering from hers. He sounded sincere, but Clara wasn't sure how likely he was to follow through with it. She then accepted that she'd have to take his word for it, there was nothing else she could do. Their eyes still hadn't parted, and so she gently kissed his lips. 'I'm gonna miss you,' she said, caressing his chest through his shirt. 'Me too,' he replied, resting his hand on her thigh.

She swallowed then, preparing herself to say what she may not ever get the chance to again. 'I love you Vic,' she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. He seemed surprised by these words, but his eyes lit up, and he kissed her softly. The TV was shortly abandoned and Clara spent the last night she could in Victor's bed.

She was exhausted when they'd finished, but the last thing she wanted to do was sleep, lest the morning arrive too quickly. Still, her body soon gave into fatigue and she dozed off, her head filling with strange dreams. She had believed that the noise was part of them until she heard it still with her eyes open. Never had she thought there'd come a day when that sound seemed to fill in her stomach with cement. The familiar whir of the TARDIS sounded out on the street, probably waking more than just her in this sleepy town. She reached over for the alarm clock, picking it up to see that it was ten past five in the morning. 'For God's sake Doctor,' she mumbled to herself. She sat up and turned her head, Victor was still fast asleep, lying on his side, facing away from her. She gently stroked his hair and kissed his bare shoulder before getting out of bed and pulling her clothes on. She debated whether or not she should wake him, then decided to get dressed before making up her mind.

She was sitting on the bed, tying her shoe laces when he began to stir. 'You're leaving aren't you?' he said with a tired voice. She turned around to face him, he was flat on his back now, gazing up at her from the pillow. She wanted to store that image in her head forever, knowing it was one of the last she'd ever see of him in his youth. She only nodded, not trusting herself to speak. 'He's already out there,' she said, making her way over to the window, opening the curtain the slightest bit. There it was, the famous blue box, it's owner standing outside waiting, probably wondering whether it would be socially acceptable to ring the doorbell at this time in the morning. Clara backed away, letting the curtain fall closed. She didn't want to make eye contact with him, she wasn't quite ready yet.

'I know you said he's not great with time keeping, but five in the morning? Seriously?'

Clara made her way back over to the other side of the bed, a sharp unnatural sound leaving her throat that she'd intended to be laughter. She gazed at Victor who slowly sat up, wiping his eyes. She knelt down and pulled him into a rib-cracking hug. He squeezed back just as tightly as she did, both of them probably bound to end up with bruises from the force of their embrace. She took in the scent of him, savouring it and placing it too in her memory bank. 'There's nothing I can say to make you change your mind is there?' he asked gently, pulling back from her slightly to see her face. She shook her head, and her pushed the loose strands of hair back behind her ears out of habit.

'I'll come to you one day, I'll tell you I remember. But you can't say anything until then.'

He nodded. 'I'll be waiting,' he said, making her smile slightly.

The back of her eyes were stinging she knew that if she didn't leave soon the Doctor would have to come up and wrench her away by force.

'Just, don't forget me,' she said, displaying her insecurity right there for him to see.

'You're the one who'll be travelling around the universe.'

'I know, but still,' she said, embarrassed.

'I won't; I can't,' he told her.

She kissed him then, holding on for as long as she good, knowing that once it ended that was it. She'd never get to be with him again.

Eventually she reluctantly pulled apart from him, her body automatically moving her away, her heart protesting all the while. She picked her handbag and looked back at him once more.

'Goodbye Victor.'

'Goodbye Clara.'

They exchanged smiles that were difficult to produce and she was gone, gently shutting his bedroom door behind her. She clambered down the stairs, her shaking legs feebly marching through each step, propelling her forward to the door.

She passed through it, locking it behind her and dropping her keys in the letterbox, she wouldn't need them anymore.

She swallowed hard before turning around, not wanting to fall to pieces before the Doctor.

'Clara! There you are! Long time no see!' his cheery tone sounded behind her, the familiarity of his voice almost shattering her heart into even smaller pieces.

She slowly turned to face him, unable to stop herself from grinning at his outstretched arms and delighted expression. She walked forward to him, meeting him halfway in a hug, probably responding with much more force than he was expecting. Still, he lifted her from the ground and spun her round before placing her on her feet once more.

'Look at you, you're all 8o's-ified,' he remarked, eyeing her outfit.

'So I am,' she responded, unable to say anything else. It was odd having the Doctor here, on the doorstep of a world he'd never been part of. Her friend grinned at her, then something else caught his eye. 'Oh, I think someone wants to say goodbye,' he said, very unsubtly nodding his head towards the second story window. Clara looked up.

There was Victor, wrapped in a night gown and gazing out the window through the curtains, much the same way Clara had earlier. Her eyes meet his and he waved in his shy way. Clara waved back, smiling once more at him, her heart threatening to split into shards the size of smithereens.

The Doctor surprised Clara then, he didn't wave at Victor but saluted instead. Victor, probably as surprised as she was simply replicated the move. He nodded at Clara once more, the disappeared behind the curtain. Disappointment filled her, she wished she could signal to him to get him to see the TARDIS dematerialising, but he was already gone.

'Right, we better get moving, we've a Weeping Angel to destroy and I think I've got some sort of meeting with some Silurians that I've only just remembered,' he said, opening the TARDIS doors. His high energy jolted Clara back to reality, she looked back at the window once more, but there was no sign of Victor. She swallowed her sadness and entered the TARDIS, though she could have been walking into a waiting room for all the thrill it gave her.


	18. The Doctor and the Angel

Clara held so tightly to the bars of the TARDIS her knuckles went white. The Doctor was babbling away about something or other, but she could only faintly hear him, he was background noise. They soon landed, and Clara placed her feet on modern soil for the first time in three months. It took her a moment to realise that they were back in the graveyard, though further from the entrance than she'd been when the Angel had sent her back. She found herself looking around, afraid of what she might see.

Meanwhile the Doctor meant business. He wandered about at a quick pace, his alien life force detector at the ready. He'd made sure to set it in such a way that it wouldn't detect him, (he'd spent far too long walking around in circles after himself the other day, much like a dog chasing its tail.) 'Ok, Angel, where are you? You've got to be around here somewhere, unless you want to infect all your friends, or of course if Clara's done well then you're no longer infected. Either way, I think you'll still have stuck around. It's a good place to pick up lone wanderers, a graveyard; isn't it you magnificent stone wonder?'

The signal on the Doctor's instrument lit up, he was in the right area where he was, standing in the middle of a small stone path between some of the older headstones. He slowly turned on his heel, his eyes peeled. He heard some slight shuffling behind him and turned in time to stop it in its tracks.

'There you are!' he exclaimed, putting his detector away into his handy, bigger-on-the-inside pockets. The Angel was facing him, though it had remembered to cover its face with one hand, the other reaching out. 'Hello, it's been a while hasn't it? You lot were running New York last time I saw you, but not now, no siree Bob. Scattered and dying, that's how I like you. Now listen, you probably think I have no way of defeating you don't you? What can you do with a single Weeping Angel? You can't fight it, you can't reason with it. You can't even run, which I have to say, tends to be my speciality. All I can do is stand here and not blink for as long as I can. That's my only defence, but even I can't last forever, you're thinking. Even a Timelord must occasionally moisten his eyes right?' the Doctor said, still maintaining his steely gaze. 'Well yes, that is right. But it's not over yet Angel, because of still got one trick up my sleeve, quite literally. Now excuse me while I get your stance to its optimum level.'

It was as simple as blinking, but the Doctor wasn't quite content to do only this. He stepped back slightly, still both eyes trained on the Angel. In one swift move he turned his head and pulled out his secret weapon. He turned back, holding it before the Angel's face which this time had no protective hands to cover it.

'Ha!' exclaimed the Doctor, holding the hand mirror aloft by its gold painted handle. 'Whatever holds the image of an Angel becomes itself an Angel, therefore, give and Angel a mirror and the vain souls can't ever look away. Professor Song came up with this one, I've got to hand it to her, you've done it again River! Isn't it just genius Clara?'

There was no response. 'Clara?' He turned his head slightly, looking around, still keeping the mirror in place. He faced the Angel once more. 'I'll just give this to you,' he said, wedging the mirror into one of its frozen hands, leaving the Angel staring at its own image for eternity.

He moved quickly through the small pathways between the graves, half worrying that he'd been too late. What if the Angel had found Clara before he got to it? What if he had been tricked once more? If the Angel's had taken her the same way they'd taken Amy and Rory...

Just as this horrific thought was beginning to take hold of him, relief came and replaced it. There she was up ahead, standing still, peering at a grave.

'There you are! You had me worried Clara. I just froze an Angel with a mirror, it was quite brilliant, did you see it?' he asked eagerly. She didn't look up, the Doctor turned to what held her attention and put that glum look on her face.

'Oh,' he said, realising. There were still the same batches of flowers placed there, the photograph. The Doctor recognised the man now, he'd seen him less than an hour ago peeking through the window at them, though he was much older in the photograph, more than twenty years had passed since then.

'I'm so sorry Clara,' he said. There were tears on her face, slow silent ones that she didn't bother to wipe away.

'Was it me? Did I cause it Doctor?' she asked, her voice shaky.

'what, you can't-'

'You said, Doctor you said if I fell in love with him and then left-'

'Hey Clara, come on now, those were just words. I was just giving you the worst case scenario-'

'And this is it,' she said, raising her hand slightly, gesturing towards the grave. 'He's still dead, none of it made a difference; or it's my fault. How can I know?' she thought aloud.

The Doctor turned to her. 'Clara you can't blame yourself for this. You don't know what was going on inside his head, you don't know why he did it. You can't beat yourself up over it.'

'I want you to take me back.'

'What?'

'Take me back to him, before it happens.'

'Clara, you can't mess with your history, that's why you left 1986-'

'No. Not 1986, last week. That's when he did it. Take me to that day and I can stop it,' she said, determined.

'You can't just magically make his depression disappear, it's not that simple.'

'Just let me try Doctor, please. You took me away from the man I love now please, just give me a chance to save him. You owe me that much at least,' she said, voice rising.

The Doctor watched her, he hadn't known just how much they'd cared about each other until this point. He was embarrassed, he'd always been oblivious to these human things, and now guilt overwhelmed him.

'Ok,' he said, feeling all of his rules snapping and cracking before him. 'But you get one chance, and one chance only,' he warned, though this part she didn't seem to care about. She jumped into his arms and showered him in "thank you's" for the whole journey in the TARDIS. He let her off outside of Victor's house a few days in the past, hoping for her sake that she could talk him round.


	19. Last Chance

Clara was already getting her spare key from her handbag as she made her way up the path towards the house. She was glad of it now, she'd kept it from the days long passed when she'd sometimes need to go to Hannah's after school while her parents worked. She knew, judging by the time of day and the presence of only one car in the drive that there was no way she'd get an answer if she rang the doorbell. She shoved her key into the lock instead, heart pumping with adrenaline, terrified that she was already too late.

Once inside she closed the door behind her. 'Hello? Is there anyone in?' she called from the hallway. There was no response as she expected but it still made her uneasy. 'Hannah? Heather?' she said then, to confirm that neither mother or daughter were home. 'Victor?' Nothing from him either. She stepped forward, bracing herself as she neared the steps to the basement and started down them. She was well aware that the only thing she might end up changing was who got to Victor's body first, but still, she had to press on.

It was quiet, eerily so, and the basement door was closed. She pushed gently on it, hoping that the door was still without a lock. If it wasn't she was stuck. Even the Doctor's sonic screwdriver couldn't get through wood. She tested the handle and luckily for her it gave way. She pushed the door open quietly; cautiously stepping into the room. She breathed a sigh of relief, seeing Victor up ahead with his back to her, his feet still firmly on the ground. At her noise he turned, and she him for the first time in this new light.

The two men she'd known were now merged as one, Victor her friend's dad, looking like he always did, a burly man with a kind face mostly hidden by a well trimmed beard; and Vic, her lover. He too was in there somewhere, dwelling inside those eyes that had so often gazed intimately into her own.

'Clara, what are you doing here? How did you get in?' he said, addressing her in that fatherly tone, seeming a little flustered.

'I remember Victor, I've only just come back,' she told him, watching his face change at her words. He became serious, some sort of guard seemed to fall away inside him. He seemed unable to speak.

Clara gazed around the room, she noticed it was set up like a work station. Victor's toolbox stood behind him on the table, looking almost as old and worn as he did. The shelves around the room were filled with various knick-knacks, and occasionally there would be what appeared to be an unfinished wood project. These lay at different heights in the shelves, covered in layers of dust; forgotten, abandoned.

A chair caught her eye. It was already placed directly below one of the rafters. The sight of it made her stomach churn.

'What are you doing Victor?' she asked.

'I- just working,' he said, too fast, his voice too jerky.

Clara watched him, saw his hands shaking and wondered what she might've witnessed if she'd arrived five minutes later.

'You said you'd talk Victor, you promised,' she said, her voice low.

He looked down, dropping the pretence. 'It's not that easy,' he replied quietly. 'How did you know I'd be here?' he asked, looking at her.

Clara swallowed, deciding to admit the truth. 'I've seen it before Victor. I was at your funeral.'

He frowned slightly, the words sinking in. 'You knew?' he said after a moment. 'That whole time in Leeds, you knew about this?'

She nodded.

'Why didn't you tell me?'

'Would you have wanted to know?' she countered.

He shook his head and turned away from her, picking up some of his tools from the desk.

'You should just go Clara,' he told her. 'You can't help here.'

This didn't deter her. She hated seeing him like this, so jaded, so cynical. 'How did you get here Vic?' she asked, her voice just a little louder than a whisper.

A miniscule laugh emitted from him. 'No one's called me that in years; you're the only one that ever did.'

He lowered the tools he was holding, but didn't turn around.

'Don't you ever think about, who might find you?' she asked, remembering Hannah's harrowing tale.

His head dropped lower, he sighed. 'That's what's been keeping me here for the last ten years, the guilt. Is that really living? Just sticking around for other people?' he asked with raw honesty.

'There must be something that make you happy. You can't just give in so easily,' she said, stepping up right behind him. 'What happened to the man I knew? Remember, Blackpool, and the school house, all those ideas we had. We were going to do everything... you were the Philosophical Plumber remember?'

She couldn't see him, but if she could she would've seen the tears that were beginning to form in his eyes. She placed a hand on his shoulder. 'Look,' she said, encouraging him to turn around. He did so, albeit reluctantly. She held up her wrist and removed the bracelet. 'You were the man how made this for me. Where did he go Vic?' she asked, watching his eyes on the bracelet. It was as though he'd forgotten it had ever existed, but seeing it brought a wave of memories cashing over him.

'Have you given up on him too?' she asked.

He closed his eyes, trying to force down those sudden emotions she'd reawakened in him. Stale memories flooded his brain, memories that were still fresh for Clara. He raised his hands to his face, crying into them, not wanting her to see.

She automatically placed her hand on his shoulder and rubbed it gently, forgetting about everything else besides his pain. She pulled him close and held him in her arms. He lowered his head and cried into her shoulder, clinging to her. Clara didn't let go as his sobs continued, it seemed he was unleashing years worth of bottled up sadness onto her. Raw, intense grief leaked from him. The weight of everything that had happened between this moment and the last time she'd him seemed to have found an escape route at last. She remained there for as long as he needed her. After a long while his crying began to subside somewhat he let her go and began to wipe his eyes.

'When was the last time you cried Victor?' she said as he blew his nose. He shook his head.

'I don't remember, ages ago,' he admitted, pocketing the tissue. I can't. I don't know why. Nothing ever seems to come out, it's like emotional constipation.' His crude comparison gave her a glimpse of the man she'd left behind, twenty-seven years in the past. She smiled, her heart aching below it.

They talked about him going to counselling, to a professional who would be better equipped to help him.

'Have you talked to Heather?' Clara asked.

He shook his head. 'She's got enough of her own problems, she doesn't need mine on top of them.'

'Don't be ridiculous Victor, she's your wife. She's there to support you.'

He nodded, then wiped his eyes again.

'God look at us,' Victor said after a moment. 'Look at _me_, I got old, I got fat,' he said, pointing at the extra weight that hadn't been there all of those years ago, making her chuckle slightly. 'But you, you're exactly the same. Just as beautiful as always,' he said, eyeing her.

'Well you've aged well, you're very distinguished,' she replied.

'That's just a nice way of saying my hair's going grey,' he said, his quick wit taking her back to Leeds.

She was aware of something in his smile since she'd entered the room, and only now she knew what it was. That glint that used to be in his eye when he looked at her was no longer there. She supposed it made sense, almost thirty years had passed, but still, it stung a little.

'It seems so obvious now, to just tell Heather at least, but it never occurred to me before.'

'That's why you need someone else's perspective every now and then,' she said, finding herself adding, 'you love her don't you?'

He nodded without hesitation. 'Very much,' he said. 'But I loved you too once.'

Clara smiled, her heart wrenching, the back of her throat beginning to throb painfully. She leaned forward and hugged him, her arms not stretching quite as far as they used to due to his expansion. She felt his scratchy beard against her face as he kissed her forehead. She held tightly to him, it felt right to be in his arms again, though it wasn't quite the same. It never could be, he'd had twenty seven years to get over her while she'd only left him behind mere hours ago.

She knew it was time to leave then. She took the chair away from below the rafter and placed it back under the desk where it belonged.

'Thanks for saving my life Clara,' he said as she made her way towards the door. 'You've done it more than once,' he added, smiling.

'Thanks for making mine so much better,' she replied.

Clara walked back up the stairs, her legs tiring quickly as though she hadn't walked anywhere in ages. When she got outside she was greeted by a blonde girl about her age walking up the path, a bag of groceries in her hand.

'Oh hello, what are you up to?' said the girl, Clara recognised her instantly.

'Hannah!'

Before she could stop herself she scrambled forward and pulled her friend into a hug.

'Woah! What's gotten into you?' Hannah said as they pulled apart.

'I dunno I just-' _wasn't sure if I'd ever see you again _she refrained from saying. 'It's been a while hasn't it?'

'Yeah I suppose. Too long actually. Well I'm home for the next fortnight, you should pop 'round for tea someday.'

'That sounds lovely, I'm holding you to that,' Clara said, making her friend laugh.

'Yeah, I'll text you or something. Right I better get inside before this bag splits open and spills my dinner,' Hannah said. Clara chuckled. 'Ok, well good to see you,' she said, starting on her way.

'Yeah you too,' Hannah replied, getting a firmer grip on her plastic bag and heading up the path.

Clara walked away, momentarily cheered by her meeting with the friend she hadn't lost, though with a pang she realised she could never share her story with Hannah. That was the problem with time travel, it easily alienated her from the people in her life, whittling them down, leaving the Doctor as the only person who could understand her pain.


	20. Not a Ghost Story

**Author's Note: Here we are, the last chapter. :o This has gone through a few rewrites, but I'm happy enough with it now. Hopefully you reader folk will be too. Please feel free to review, feedback is my favourite thing. :) Here we go:**

One more trip in the TARDIS later and they were back in the graveyard for the last time. Clara nervously stepped forward, anticipating the worst even despite her talk with Victor. She and the Doctor walked towards the spot where the grave had been.

'By the way what happened to the Angel?' she asked as they neared the site. 'Oh, it's in the storage room of the TARDIS. I didn't want to risk anyone trying to take its mirror away.'

Clara nodded and said nothing more. They reached the plot and to her immense relief saw that there was no longer any trace of a grave belonging to Victor, or anyone else for that matter. It was just an empty patch of grass. She gave a large sigh of relief for what felt like the hundredth time in the space of a few hours. It was over, everything was back to normal.

'Well done Clara Oswald! You did it! You saved a man's life! That's no easy feat, by the way, believe me.'

She smiled, pride rising a little, though the relief she had initially felt was beginning to recede already. She thought of what lay ahead of her now, waiting to hear back from that school she'd applied to, going round to her friends for drinks, all of the stuff she'd longed for during the start of her stay in Leeds suddenly seemed so empty.

'It's one thing to pull someone up if they're falling off of an intergalactic cliff, it's a whole other task trying to stop someone from giving into the demons in their own head. But that's what you did Clara. Not many people can say that.'

She was nodding along, his words cascading over her. Now that everything had been put back in its place, heartbreak was beginning to set in. There would be no more Sunday lunches with Marjorie, no more games of darts in the pub, no more speculating about the endless possibilities of their future together, a fictional future. All of it had disintegrated right before her eyes. Twenty-seven years had passed, Victor had moved on, he had his own family, his own problems, but for Clara, it still wasn't over, not where it counted.

'You chose friendship over love Clara. Not many people could make that choice, but you did. You put yourself last and look, everybody lives! You have my permission, on behalf of all of Timelords of Gallifrey, which, really, is just me now, but still. You have my permission to be well and truly proud of yourself.' The Doctor clapped then, an enthusiastic crowd all by himself.

'Thanks,' she said, with all the enthusiasm she could muster, which, given the circumstances, really wasn't much. She tried to smile, but it quickly wilted. It was all too soon, mere hours ago she had been in bed with Victor, and now she out here on her own again, as though nothing had ever happened. The Doctor's applause fizzled out and his grin faded.

'You'll be ok Clara, just give it time,' he said, his voice soothing and sympathetic. She gave a small, spiteful laugh. 'Time, that's the one thing I needed, more time. Why couldn't that Time lock have lasted six months instead of three? Why not a year?' she asked, addressing the question to no one in particular.

'Do you think it would've made a difference? Would you ever have been ready to go?'

She shrugged. 'I don't know do I? Never got the chance to see.'

The Doctor nodded.

'If it makes you feel any better, I get it. I've got all the time in the universe and yet there's never enough of it,' he said. His mind was on Amy and Rory, Martha and Rose, Donna who couldn't even remember her own brilliance, and of course River. She was still waiting to see the Towers sing, every other date in their mutual calendar had been ticked off, though she didn't yet know it. It was inevitable that he must face his fate, but he'd had too many premature endings in his life already, he wasn't prepared to add another one to the list. Not yet.

'How do you do it Doctor?' Clara asked.

He gave her a quizzical look. 'How do you ever get used to leaving people behind?'

His voice became serious, solemn. 'You don't. But you adapt, you work around things by learning not to break certain rules.'

'Rules such as...?'

'Don't fall in love,' said, looking pointedly at her.

Her heart swooped, memories of Victor rising above the surface they'd been hiding just below. She eyed her friend then, thinking of the crush she'd had on him before. Perhaps she was lucky in some ways that she'd learned her lesson early on. As bad as it was to lose Victor, it was possibly even more dangerous to fall head over heels for the Timelord. She was curious then.

'Have you ever broken that rule?' she asked.

His eyes became evasive, moving away from her own. 'Not intentionally,' he said, and already he was walking away, back to the TARDIS.

'Is there anywhere you want to go?' he asked as Clara began to follow him, chirpy voice back in place.

'We could have a nice little holiday, go somewhere peaceful, with a beach, or a giant swimming pool. Or I know this planet where there's a twenty-four hour dance floor. Can you believe that? It literally never stops! So come on then, where do you want to go? Pick a place, any place! My treat!'

She appreciated the attempt to cheer her up, but could feel her bones aching with tiredness, besides, wherever the Doctor decided to take them peril was sure to find them, her batteries needed recharging before she was up to it. 'Thanks for the offer Doctor, but right now I think the only place I should be is in my bed,' she said.

'Oh, ok,' he replied, disappointed, but hiding it well. 'Well, when should I come back?'

'How about next week?'

'Great, ok. See you next time Clara,' he said.

'Bye Doctor, stay out of trouble,' she replied. They hugged and there he was, dashing off to the TARDIS like an overactive child.

Clara watched him go, thinking about something he'd said, about not having enough time. He was over a thousand years old, the only one of his kind left; the losses he must have suffered must have been immense, yet he still behaved how he did. Clara found herself thinking that maybe that was simply how he coped, if he was constantly weighed down with feelings akin to her own grief and dwelled on it; he'd probably never be able to get through a single day._ He laughs because if he didn't, he'd probably never stop crying, _she thought to herself, a melancholic admiration for her alien companion.

She turned on her heel and walked back towards her house, intending to sleep for the next few days if she could manage it. She was on autopilot as she went inside the house, legs propelling her forward, one foot in front of the other all the way up the stairs. She entered her room then, laying down on her bed which was more comfortable than her squeaky single had been in Marjorie's house. Her body moulded itself into the covers, becoming one with them, glad to be still at last. She raised her arm, taking off that wooden bracelet so she could admire it. She ran her fingers over each bead, missing Victor's touch, his scent, everything about him. She was unaware that in 1986, her actions were being mirrored.

Victor had seen the TARDIS dematerialise, unbeknownst to Clara. He had stepped away from the window with a heavy heart and was almost back in bed when the strange noise alarmed him. Worry struck him for a moment, what if something had gone horribly wrong? He ripped back the curtains in time to see the machine disappearing and reappearing in the same spot before fading once and for all. That was it then, she was gone, his Clara. He closed the curtains, going back to bed, clutching Clara's pillow which still carried her perfume.

As Clara held tight to her bracelet in 2013, Victor sat in her old room in 1986.

She was finally able to let go of grief now that she was alone, and so she shed tears for her lost love as Victor curled up on her old bed, feeling low enough to cry but finding himself unable to.

* * *

Hannah was true to her word and invited Clara over to dinner that weekend. It was later on in the evening that she found herself alone with Victor. They were out in the garden, sharing bottles of wine in the summers evening, sitting at the wooden table placed in their garden. There were many people there, several groups talking amongst themselves. Clara noted that in another world it was the day of Victor's funeral, but not anymore, now he was approaching her where she stood leaning against a pillar.

'Hello Mr. Green, how are you?' she asked.

'Good. Much better than the last time we met anyway,' he said, making her smile slightly.

'I quit. I'm no longer a plumber,' he said proudly. 'I thought I should let you know.'

She beamed. 'That's wonderful, when did you do that?'

'Last week, the same day I booked a counselling appointment and signed up for a carpentry course.'

Her grin widened further. His whole demeanour was different, he had more in common with the man who'd made the birdhouse for Marjorie's garden than the broken man who was at his wits end a week ago.

'Victor honestly, that's the best news I've heard in ages. I'm glad you're feeling better.'

His eyes lit up, there was Vic inside him, no longer pushed back into the shadows and crushed by life's endless disappointments.

He nodded. 'I know it's not gone, as such. But there's a way out, a better one than- you know-'

She nodded.

For a moment they were almost in Marjorie's garden again, talking as though they had all the time in the world to be together. Clara didn't intend to speak her mind, but before she knew it the words had slipped out.

'I miss you,' she said, catching him off guard.

His eyes wavered over hers, the lines around them crinkling slightly.

'You've got that Doctor of yours don't you?' he asked.

'Yeah, I do, and he's great, incredible really; but it's different. He's not you,' she said, her voice quiet.

'Eh, you can do better than me. Some nonce from Leeds? You've got the whole universe to choose from!' he said.

'I'd happily trade it in though, if I could,' she admitted, feeling as though she was being far too honest now, but still she couldn't force herself to hold back.

Victor put his drink down on the wall. 'You told me once that I'd meet someone else and I didn't believe it. I was convinced you were just saying it to make me feel better, but then I met Heather. As soon as I got to know her I just knew that she's who you were talking about.'

Clara could feel her heart beating too fast now, her throat beginning to dry up. 'Now unlike you I can't just go into the future and find you're perfect man, but I know he's out there.'

She lowered her head, worried that the threat of tears might be realised. 'Hey look,' he said, reaching for his wallet. He opened it out and rooted through it, reminding her distinctly of when she'd produced proof for him that she was in fact, from the future.

'Just because something is over, doesn't make it any less meaningful,' he said, pulling an old worn photo from one of the sections.

He held it before her eyes, and she saw. It was them, Clara looking as though she belonged in the 80's, and Victor, Vic, grinning from ear to ear, his arm around her, both of them looking delighted to be with one another. That lump rose high now and she covered her mouth, afraid a whimper might escape.

'I didn't forget you Clara, and I never will,' he told her, eyes delving into hers.

She swallowed hard, desperately fighting the urge to both cry and fall into his arms.

'Dad, hey Dad have you seen this?' Hannah said, her voice carrying over the garden, bringing Clara back to her senses.

Victor placed the photo back in his wallet. 'No, what is it?' he called across the garden.

'Just come and look!' Hannah replied.

'You should come too,' he said to Clara.

'I'll be there in a minute,' she said forcing her voice to be strong.

He flashed her a small smile and took off across the grass to where his daughter had her laptop set up.

Clara watched them, the family and quite a few friends all gathered together, laughing and joking about whatever it was they were watching. She felt strangely distant from it, as though she didn't quite belong. This was Victor's life now, she was nothing more than a friend of his daughter, someone that belonged well in the past for him. She was a faded photo hidden in his wallet while Heather was the woman he loved, and rightly so. Victor's happiness and Hannah's too, had been Clara's priority, but still that didn't stop the aches in her own heart.

She stood back, silent tears falling as she watched something she couldn't bring herself to join in with. She remembered when she'd gone with the Doctor to see that old haunted house that actually just contained a pocket universe in which someone had gotten trapped. She remembered those monsters, how the Doctor had told her how accidents in time, war, politics, anything may have separated them, but finally, they were reunited. She envied those creatures, they had found a way back to each other, in the end. She remembered too, what the medium had said: that love doesn't end, not always. But sometimes and did, and when this happened there was nothing you could do but wait it out, weather the storm and hope that one day, life would be enjoyable again.

Clara left the gathering early, returning home to her quiet house and watching some sad films before calling it a night.

In 1986 Victor Green tried and failed to replicate Clara's soufflé. He repeated to himself what she had often told him, the soufflé isn't the soufflé, the soufflé is the recipe; but it wasn't quite as reassuring when it was just a voice in his head and not Clara herself.

Both of them lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling, yearning for each other across time and space, longing just to be able to see one another again. A love story yes, not a ghost story; but not one which ends happily.


End file.
